Legacy
by omens
Summary: There is always a reason. Chloe Sullivan, Oliver Queen, Dick Grayson, Conner Hawke. AU Post 'Doomsday.'
1. Chapter 1

**Name:** Chris

**Title:** Legacy

**Fandom:** Smallville/ General DC comicverse

**Genre:** General

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** "There's always a reason." [Chloe/Oliver, Conner Hawke, Dick Grayson] Post 'Doomsday.'

…0…

"_It is in your moments of decision that your destiny is shaped." _

- Anthony Robbins

…0…

There is a place deep inside Oliver Queen that wonders what life would be like on the other side.

Oliver watched Clark with Lana, saw the deep confliction in his friend as he debated whether to risk the love he always wanted for the duty he felt. He saw the struggle, the yearning, and still he insisted that the greater good trumped all.

And Oliver believes that, truly he does. So much so that he gave up the first chance he had at real love in order to pursue it.

But, as amazing as Lois is, in all of her Lane glory, she is not the girl for Oliver-no matter how much or how long he tried to tell himself otherwise.

Chloe comes to his loft within twenty minutes of the phone call.

Having not seen Chloe for more than two months (sixty-seven days, twelve hours, eighteen minutes), Oliver feels a knot of worry untangling inside his stomach. He's surprised she agreed to come over, and on such short notice, and at the same time he can only imagine how lonely she must have been these last few weeks. No Clark, no Lois. No Jimmy.

And there's another place, just as deep, just as potent, that blames himself for Chloe losing the love of her life before turning twenty-three.

The elevator door opens and she looks…the same.

What was he expecting? He's not sure, but it wasn't for her to look quite so, well, Chloe. Calm. Quieter than usual, that's a given. But she's still Chloe and she offers him up a sad little attempt at a smile that he knows he wouldn't be getting if he hadn't checked in with her at least twice every day that he was gone. (Sometimes more.)

"Well, the prodigal son has returned and he looks a little worse for wear," she teases, tipping her head at the gash above his left eyebrow.

He shrugged, trying for that old bravado he used to be so good at. "Well, if you think this is bad, you should see the concrete I fell on. Big ole' mess." Oliver grins, being rewarded by a big, bright Sullivan grin, the likes of which he hasn't seen in far too long.

By all accounts, Chloe should hate him. At least, in his opinion. But she doesn't.

Or…doesn't outwardly appear like it. That'll have to do for now Oliver supposes as he hands her the flash drive so she can work her Chloe voodoo on it and point his arrow in the right direction.

…0…

Picking idly at a drop of paint of paint that persistently refuses to come off her thumbnail, Chloe looks around the elevator on her way up to Oliver's loft.

The summer has not been a good one for Chloe, even worse than the previous and she never thought that was possible. Everyone she loves is gone and all she had to focus on was Isis and renovating the apartment Jimmy had given her. Her Watchtower duties have been few and far between, not that she's surprised. They're an overprotective bunch and right now she's a great target for some supersympathy.

She's sure they thought it was the right thing to do, that she needed time to grieve. Even the search for Lois has metaphorically been taken out of her hands. Yes, they are the expert crime fighters, but she does have a pretty good track record in this department if she does say so herself.

Chloe tells herself that they're merely looking out for her. Every time she hangs up the phone from one of their daily 'check ins' (even AC, though she heard distinct splashes in the background and a dolphin-she thinks) she has to count to ten, breath, and remind herself that these people care about her and just trying to keep all undue stress away from her.

Still…there is little for her to do once Isis work is done for the day and she doesn't have any other family close by. She needs Lois.

And Lois never, never, gave up trying to find her when Lex had her locked in Black Creek. She owes her.

They're now three weeks into the renewed search and Chloe's apartment is now fully stocked with all the latest in high tech everything and she feels like a kid in a candy store with free reign when she feasts her eyes on the screen.

"You really didn't have to do this," she tells Oliver as they watch the delivery guys unload and hook up her new system. As soon as she sees the size of the monitor her fingers begin to itch. Oliver sees it, eyes her twitching hands and eager expression and chuckles good naturedly.

Tossing an arm around her shoulders, he speaks; all the while keeping his eyes focused on the men working in the room Chloe has designated her 'home office.' "Well, seeing as how you use most of your rather formidable cyber skills for my benefit these days, I figured it was the least I can do."

Chloe feels the corners of her lips pulling up. "Not that I don't appreciate the new toys," her gaze falls on a box by the door that Oliver was saving as a surprise for when the movers left, "but this system makes what I thought was a great set up at Isis look like a Fisher Price play set. We may have to set up camp here."

"Why do you think I insisted on having it delivered here?" Oliver asks, tilting his head towards hers and suddenly she remembers just why she put her faith in this man in the first place.

…0…

The first time Oliver knows that he's in deep trouble is early fall.

The leaves have turned various jewel tones and the whole city smells like smoke from the fires being lit in the chilly evenings. The year is fading, life preparing to renew itself.

Clark has popped back up, in that almost scripted its so perfectly timed way he has, determined to find Lois at all costs, and is a far cry from the farm boy that Oliver met two years ago. He's detached, distant, sure of himself in a way that has nothing to do with his powers. Clark Kent has grown up-and about damn time too if you ask Oliver.

"Chloe, how are you doing?" His voice is that low tone he reserves for the women in his life when he's hurt them the most.

Oliver steps out, walking out of the kitchen of Chloe's new apartment to look his former ally (rather, former friend) in the eye. "She's fine. You know, now that all of us are back in town and are looking out for her. The way friends do." Oliver is not okay with what Clark did; abandoning the person he calls his best friend in the darkest hour of her life.

When Oliver told Clark that the world needed him, he never meant for him to exclude those closest to him. He had a circle of people close to him that Oliver lacked; people who kept his secret. Now that Oliver does have that, he sees the importance of it.

Clark nods his head in Oliver's direction, paying no heed to Chloe's lack of response-though Oliver thinks that maybe it's really Chloe's lack of admonishment in his direction that really has Clark's dander up. (Chloe has Clark blinders though.) "Oliver. Looks like nothing's changed around here."

"What are you doing here, Clark?" Oliver asks, crossing his arms. He's standing beside Chloe now, the tip of his elbow slightly in front of her small frame. It is, he realizes, his subconscious trying to shield her from further pain.

He's simple, direct. He's Clark. "I'm here to find Lois."

"We're handling that."

"Yeah," Clark shoots back. "And given the fact that she's still missing, I'd say you need help."

Oliver wants to retort. Hell, being perfectly honest, he wants to deck the other man, but that wouldn't solve anything and he'd walk away with a busted hand if he tries. Chloe steps in and directs them back to their respective corners until they're both adult enough to leave all the petty 'mine is bigger' nonsense behind and focus on finding her cousin.

They study the scant bit of information left behind in the box of Lois's personal effects from her desk that Tess had sent over. Clark's is there too, thanks to his ill-timed resignation from the Planet.

There's that impeccable timing thing again.

And finally, a lead-in the form of a missing Legion ring. Both Chloe and Oliver know about the Legion, about what that ring does. Tess, for all her posturing on, bragging about her extensive knowledge of alien culture and the Traveler, wouldn't have looked twice at that ring with its overly large face and carnival trinket appearance.

Lois, though, Lois is nosey with a capital snoop and would have thought nothing of rifling through her deskmate's belongings and trying it on-no matter how ugly she found it.

Of course Clark zips out of there in two seconds flat, because, well, because he's Clark and that's what he does, leaving Oliver holding the bag so to speak.

"I hope he's right about this," Chloe says, an offhanded remark that Oliver's not sure is actually meant for him or if she's merely thinking out loud.

Tilting his shoulders in something resembling a shrug that falls short when he realizes she's not looking at him so it'd be best if he actually, you know, _spoke_ right about now, he clears his throat and says, "Me too-if for no other reason than getting Lois home safely."

It takes about three seconds for it dawn on him that he's fallen short of genuineness and his open hostility has made an appearance, live and in person, when Chloe turns to face him, brow quirked like he's a puzzle of binary code that she needs to decipher.

"I know you guys are having issues right now, Oliver." She begins to walk toward him and he watches her mouth forming the words to avoid looking her in the eyes. "But Clark may be our only hope of finding Lois and that's important to me right now."

Can he get away with slapping himself in the head for his lack of tact in front of her?

He doubts it.

"Chloe, we _are_ going to get Lois back. You have my word." His hand lands on her shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze.

He knows that he has no reason to expect Chloe to trust him. Over the last year his actions have leaned on the darker side of morally gray, and more than once she's been the one to call him on it. But he has to hope that her aligning herself with him and his team means more about her own innate desire to help others.

And he really, really hopes that it isn't just because he pays her well.

A small, warm hand comes up and covers Oliver's. The tips of her fingers make their way under the side of his hand, and she graces him with a smile that's about thirty percent hope, twenty-five affection, and forty-five despair.

It may not be the Chloe smile he longs to see back on her face, but it is genuine emotion and it's not entirely sad, so that is something.

Honestly, it's a something that means more to him than he's willing to admit. Oliver's had enough with unattainable women and no one is more off-limits than Chloe Sullivan. Clark, Lois, maybe even his team-they wouldn't stand for it and probably would have been very vocal about the fact had he given any sign of the growing attachment he feels for her and not hidden it from everyone including himself in repeated thwarted attempts to recapture Tess's heart.

So he promises, and he does mean it. Lois may not be the girl of his dreams any more, but she is important to him, to Chloe, and he will get her back no matter the cost.

…0…

Clark returns with a grim looking John Jones-though no more grim than usual.

Oliver's pacing has been wearing a track in her carpet, and she told him as much, garnering her a glance that she figures to be the CEO equivalent of sticking out his tongue at her.

They've been at this all night and Chloe busies herself with cleaning up the remains of their takeout dinner until he comes up behind her and takes the soda cans out of her hands. "Chloe, its okay to be scared."

She turns to face him and the cans get set back on the coffee table. Clark's departure was like salt in an open, gaping wound for Chloe, and she's reluctant to let herself depend on anyone ever again. She depended on Jimmy and he left, he died. Clark left, Lois was (if they're right) propelled into the future. Her dad lives hundreds of miles away. Her mother sits and stares out a window all day. Lana is…somewhere, trying to do some good. Pete's on tour. Everyone that Chloe has ever allowed herself to trust has disappeared on her.

Most days, Chloe knows in her bones that Oliver is a good man. That he has a good heart. Not agreeing with his actions shouldn't diminish that.

She has so few allies these days.

If Clark were here, if he were the Clark Kent that Chloe has been calling her best friend since eighth grade, she would take solace in the solid strength of his arms around her. She would bury her head against his chest, seep in his warmth, and know that she still has the emotional touchstone she needs.

But Clark does not want to be that for her anymore. Clark is not here. Maybe he feels he has no right. Either way, he's not, but Oliver is and Chloe knows that despite the bitter words they've spoken on occasion, he would walk to the ends of the Earth for her and she would do the same for him.

So Chloe lets Oliver pull her to him. Lets herself lean on him because he, like her, is desperate to keep the good things in his life close.

When Clark does reappear, he bursts in with no knock. Typical. And Chloe backs away from Oliver like she's just been caught cheating, like giving in to the comfort from loneliness is taboo because its Oliver and she still feels that loyalty to Clark despite it all and Oliver is just not his favorite person right now.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Chloe averts her eyes from Oliver's hurt face and Clark's accusatory one. She can't quite explain the guilt. She can try, but there's more to the story here and if she knows it, they might too.

Jones tells them, with no regard to the tension thickening in the air, that there is a way to contact the Legion without a ring. They can use Clark's crystal to open a portal; an interdimensional looking glass as it were.

"Then let's make like Alice and see what Wonderland has done to Lois."

Clark speeds off to get his crystal while Chloe goes to gather anything else that may be useful (a first-aid kit can't hurt) and pretends not to notice how Oliver's confused eyes stay on her back until she's out of the room.

…0…

When it comes to Clark's extraterrestrial what have you, Oliver likes to steer clear.

He's had enough of alien contact and all that comes with it thank you.

And here he is; waiting while Chloe, Clark, and Jones try to open up a portal to the future (how is this is life?) to try and grab Lois out of some undisclosed point in time.

They speak around him, about things that he's heard before but doesn't quite get; Jor-El, Rokk, other Earths. It's enough to make his head spin.

"But if the Legion are dedicated to carrying on your work," Chloe says and Oliver's head snaps up. What work? "wouldn't they just bring Lois back? You said they'd heard of her-shouldn't they know she's supposed to be here?"

"That's assuming she's in their time." Clark replies. "She could be anywhere in time."

That gets Oliver's attention. "So we're telling these guys so they can go in and get her, right? This isn't just some shot in the dark idea here? "

He gets that flat, steely look that Clark takes on when he's fighting the urge to say shut up and be done with it.

At the very least, Oliver thinks he deserves some type of a response. It was a valid question.

They all stand in a circle and it feels a bit like a séance but there's a bright flash and some guy with dark hair in all black and leather (glass houses, he tell himself) and some insignia emblazoned across his chest appears. He calls Clark Kal, which Oliver knows is his Kryptonian name, but has never heard someone call him in casual conversation before.

He tips his head at Chloe, at Jones. Then at Oliver, a restrained look on his face. He acts like he knows him and that sort of weirds Oliver out to be blunt.

"Lois is missing," Clark states, all business and matter of fact. "We think she has my Legion ring. We need your help to find her."

"Understood." He disappears again, and barely three seconds go by before he reappears. "We believe we've found her. Imra has gone to bring her back to our time, then she'll bring her back here." Then in a flash, he's gone once more.

"He's really a man of few words, isn't he?" Oliver quips.

Jones makes his exit, saying that he's done his job.

So they wait.

One thing niggles at Oliver, but it's Chloe who speaks it. "Why would they take her to their time before bringing her home?" Clark shrugs and Oliver feels his blood pressure rising. If anyone knows what these future people are capable of, shouldn't it be Clark?

"You don't-" her voice cracks, "you don't think they'd…do anything to her?"

Oliver scoots forward to sit on the edge of the couch, eyes narrowing as he looks at Chloe in the chair across from him. "What do you mean? What could they do to her?"

Chloe doesn't answer, she just bites her lip and looks away. Oliver turns his gaze on Clark, hoping against hope that because this is _Lois_ he'll say something.

"Imra," he begins after a few seconds of painful silence wherein he avoids both of their eyes, "is telepathic, among other things. I don't know exactly what she can do, but she could get inside Lois's head."

"And since these guys are committed to making sure you achieve whatever it is you do to make them create the Legion, they're going to whatever's necessary to make sure Lois doesn't change anything." Chloe takes the edge of her thumb into her mouth, working the side of her nail between her teeth.

As if the words summoned her, Lois appears then, in a flash of light that makes the crystal glow almost neon and all of them avert their eyes.

There's a wispy little blond with Lois, dressed all in red, and she greets Clark and Chloe in a soft voice before departing.

The light accompanying her exit fades and Lois stands there, dazed, looking none the worse for wear, but clearly full of anxiety about something if the way she stares at Clark over Chloe's shoulder like he's suddenly sprouted a second and third head when her cousin rushes to wrap her in a tight hug means anything.

"Lois, are you okay?" Oliver asks her. But her eyes stay on Clark and then she begins to babble, not really talking to them, more like in each of their directions, in hopes of avoiding the questions until she finally breaks with something about her lease and takes off, Clark hot on her heels.

Oliver stands there, not really sure what's just happened, with Chloe a few paces off, brow scrunched in worry.

Catching her eye, Oliver nods his head slowly, rocking back on his heels. He purses his lips before saying, "Well that was anti-climactic."

Chloe smiles, though it's a tired smile. "I'm just glad she's back and she's okay."

He can't help but agree with that. "What do you think was up with the eyes glued to Clark?"

Picking up the soda cans from earlier, she walks into the kitchen, Oliver following her. "Knowing what I do about the Legion, Lois could know anything."

Oliver thinks about the vibe he'd gotten from Rokk, about Lois's scattered focus, and knows she's right.

Just great.

…0…

It's not at all unusual for Chloe to get used to her reality completely altering itself every few months. So when the entire group gets back to town, she quickly becomes accustomed to seeing them loitering around her living room (or kitchen in Bart's case) at any given time.

Having Lois around for two weeks after her arrival proved a bit tricky when AC and Victor descended on her one morning and she had to think up a quick excuse for why a guy Lois dated for a week four years earlier dropped by and asked for a spot on Chloe's couch.

Then Lois finally convinced her landlord that she wasn't going to disappear for months with no word again (The excuse? A last minute assignment.) and he let her back in to her apartment, then set to work getting her job at the Planet back.

With her gone, Chloe sets up her guest room with another bed for when the team need a place to crash. Oliver's a good leader, but he's also a very private guy and prefers to set them up with hotel rooms rather than have them bunking at his loft.

Having all of them around begins to take her focus away from the fact that everything is so up in the air in her life. And truth be told, she gets used to walking into her kitchen at three am and finding Dinah cleaning the boys out in poker or trudging down the stairs when she's still in pajamas to see Oliver coming through the front door with a wide array of coffees and breakfast pastries.

They all refer her place as the Watchtower now and it's become as much a clubhouse as it has a base of operations.

Plus, yeah, she enjoys the company. Even when Bart comes on to her and Oliver stays long after they've called it quits for the night just to hang out. It's…nice.

And it is…until it gets…odd.

Odd in the way that Oliver has taken his hanging around beyond the team, beyond work. It seems to Chloe that she sees more of him lately than she saw of Jimmy when they were still living together. He's even stopped by Isis three days this week to take her to lunch and did the paparazzi ever have a field day with that; Oliver Queen and the same woman out and about in Metropolis more than once.

On day four of the Planet (who have reported her name by now, damn it) gossip column's speculation about one of its former reporters and one of the world's most eligible bachelors frequent sightings together, Lois shows up at Chloe's door with ice cream and that determined newshound look on her face.

"So…," she begins before the door is even shut behind her, "what's going on with you and Oliver being the new It Couple about town? Something I should know?"

"Lois, come on. Me and Oliver?" Chloe walks from the kitchen to the couch where Lois is breaking the seals on the pints of Ben & Jerry's and hands her a spoon. "Can you really see the two of us together?"

With a shrug, Lois takes a bite out of her New York Super Fudge Chunk and fixes her gaze on her cousin. "Stranger things have happened than two single, attractive people who are suddenly spending oodles of time together letting the boundaries fall by the wayside."

Chloe laughs, in part because it is that ridiculous, but mainly to cover the nerves she's feeling. Lois's comments are bringing up questions she's been having about Oliver's actions lately. But if she lets on, Lois will pounce. Chloe loves her cousin, but she's a barracuda when she wants to be. "Exactly what do you think is gonna happen, Lois? That one night, when we're constantly surrounded by other people I'm just going to lose control of my senses and jump him? Never mind that I'm still reeling from my last foray into the romance department."

"I don't see other people around right now." Lois looks around the apartment in an exaggerated fashion. And of course she chose that part of the conversation to pick at. "Not to mention…"

Obviously, Chloe's going to have to draw it out of her. "Not to mention what? Did the planet report that we were seen together before this week?" She keeps the mock terror in her voice deliberately, trying to get Lois off this track before the train crashed and ignited.

She shook her head. "No, but Smallville did tell me about a certain embrace he walked in on that looked a bit questionable."

She had a feeling Clark would misinterpret that. "Embrace? Lois, it was a hug. And it was just Oliver trying to make me feel better while we were looking for you."

"So there's nothing going on?"

She repeats; no. And would it even matter to Lois if there were?

That's where Lois trips up, flustered, and begins blathering on about Clark which, really, is no surprise whatsoever. Chloe has eyes and neither of them have any stealth in that department.

It's a ridiculous notion anyway. Absurd. Chloe's still in mourning and so not in that place.

Then Lois leaves and she gets a call from Victor about more possible 33.1 labs and as expected, Oliver is at her door within ten minutes and it seems like a blink of an eye and he's leaning over her shoulder while she sits at her computer, his cheek inches from hers and the scent of his aftershave filling her nostrils. Goosebumps trace the length of her spine.

And worse-he notices.

"Chloe, you okay?"

"Mmhm." She bobs her head and averts her eyes and just tries to keep all of her energy focused on getting the coordinates to Victor. A few keystrokes…There.

Oliver's hands come down on her shoulders and spins her chair around to face him. She likes it on the darker side in her office as to better see the screen, and the bright specks of the monitor lights flicker in his dark, dark eyes as he leans in closer to her. "Chloe, you can tell me."

It's a moment as tense as it is intense and Chloe's eyes slip down to Oliver's lips of their own accord and she hears more than sees him gulp.

"Chloe," he says, his voice bursting at the seams with _need_. Shivers race up her body and back down again. "Do you remember when you said we all know what we want but we don't listen?" Oliver's tone is husky and her control slips another notch.

The sparks between them have always been strong, and she's ignored it, fought it off with doubt, with reason, with the thoughts of other people, but now, in the darkness of her apartment, she knows that it has the potential to burn her alive. All there is left to do is let it happen.

His eyes never leave hers. A warmth rises up in her chest, and she leans in, subconsciously, drawing herself closer and closer…

"Anybody home?"

Bart's cheery voice booms across the silent apartment, making Chloe jerk back away from Oliver, a horrified look on her face and her cheeks flaming.

A shadow falls over them, backed by the brightness of the hallway and Bart leans in to see what they're doing. "What'd I miss?"

Chloe's life has suddenly gotten even more complicated.

As if she needs it.

…0…


	2. Chapter 2

…0…

_one more kiss could be the best thing,_

_on more lie could be the worst_

_- Let Me Go, 3 Doors Down_

…0…

A lot of Oliver's life is planned out. His daily routine; meetings, conference calls, functions. And while his missions have a tendency to just pop up, when they do, they are micro managed down to the nanosecond.

Well, he tries at least.

But things like feelings, he learned long ago that they can never, ever be planned.

Damn inconvenient.

Another thing that can never be planned; timing.

Oh sure, you can try, but when it all comes down to it, its all about waiting for that perfect opportunity to stand up and wave its arms at you so you can finally realize that this, this is it.

There are some things, events, that _need_ that one perfect moment in order for them to happen. They have to have that catalyst.

Oliver wondered when that moment would arise and he would know once and for all if the vague fluttery feelings running rampant in his stomach whenever he was around Chloe lately were the vestiges of guilt, of anger, or something else…something latent and unexpected, something flavored in affection and lust and growing exponentially day by day.

He raises the bar high, breathes through the burn caused by twenty extra pound son each side, thinks about the look of open want in her big green eyes and holds the bar, one second, two, three, and lowers it back onto his chest so he can repeat the action.

_Idiot_, he chides himself.

Chloe's not ready. No matter how often he thinks about her or how many times he's replayed that night (a week ago) in his head, the fact remains that Chloe simply is still grieving for Jimmy and possibly Davis, and she is just. Not. Ready.

The bar goes up holds for ten seconds this time, and back down again.

No one knows that he's overstepped that boundary. He hopes. Oliver certainly hasn't told anyone. But he knows his team and though they may act like a group of overgrown adolescents in their off time, they're a pretty smart bunch and he's sure they've noticed by now that he's been absent from Chloe's for ten days. They've all been staying close to home as much as possible for her sake the last few weeks, and he's no exception.

In fact, he's become a pretty permanent fixture at her place.

And then he took it too far, let his feelings show, only to have the moment shattered by Bart.

He's good for things like that.

To make matter worse, ever since he's stopped hanging out at Chloe's, Dinah has started dropping by when she's in town, bringing food, status reports, being overly helpful.

The kicker to it all seems that she's actually getting somewhat…flirty.

It's not something he can really wrap his head around, though, in a weird way, it does sort of make a little bit of sense.

Dinah has fought with him, side by side, for months and he trusts her with his life. There is no one else he would rather have on his side in a fight. No one. So yeah, he can understand where she's coming from here. They're thrown into life and death situations together on almost a daily basis and that can lead to…other things.

From there, it's a short walk to guilt when he wonders if there's anything he could have done to lead her on and if so, he's a heel for doing it all the while he was sleeping with Tess Mercer and having thoughts of Chloe Sullivan constantly running through his head on a loop.

He never meant for any of this to happen.

…0…

Things have almost settled back to normal.

Almost.

There is that whole she almost kissed Oliver and now he's avoiding her like she's hosting the last strain of bubonic plague thing.

But other than that, it's not too bad.

Her apartment is once again her own; all of the team out on assignment-from Chicago to Singapore-for who knows how long.

She and Lois are doing weekly lunch, bi weekly dinner, and drinks whenever the mood strikes them (Lois).

Isis is under control and for once none of her patients are wanted for murder or mayhem.

All in all, Chloe's life could be a lot worse.

She just needs to wipe all traces of a certain almost kiss from her mind. And then get Clark acting halfway human again.

Then Chloe will have nothing to distract her.

"_we all know what we really want…"_

Groaning in frustration, she rolls her chair back far enough to drop her head onto the desktop where she's sitting. It seems like the memory pops up more and more when she's alone.

This is not supposed to be happening. Not now.

Logically, Chloe knows that eventually, yes, she will move on and she will someday be ready to open her heart to someone again. She wants that. But this is not the time. It's too soon and her judgment of late has been less than stellar.

And getting involved with her boss (he is, technically) would be the stupidest thing she could do.

Running a hand through her hair in distraction, Chloe scrolls down the screen she has pulled up and her eyes roam over the words, not really seeing them. It's the image of Oliver's face, cast in darkness and full of yearning, that she's seeing on the monitor instead.

"Chloe?"

She turns at the sound of Clark's voice. Having not seen him in a while, she's more than a little surprised that he's dropping by unannounced. It appears as if he was serious about the blame he placed on himself about Jimmy's death, and has kept up the distance between them as a sort of punishment she thinks. For himself, not towards her. If anything, Clark is trying to protect her. She knows that.

But that doesn't stop her from wondering if he would be doing this if she weren't as closely involved with Oliver and his team as she is.

"Hey." Chloe gets up from her chair and walks to stand in front of him. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

Clark sidesteps around her, heading over to her computer. "Are you working on something?"

"Just research about new therapy techniques," she tells him. "Nothing that can't wait a few minutes."

Judging from the look on his face, the answer relieves him and Chloe feels something she hasn't felt towards Clark in a long, long time.

Indignation.

Chloe still retains a few of her Brainiac induced abilities, but nothing in her intellectual arsenal can wrap itself around the vague hypocrisy in this situation. Clark has been more than happy to let her do his tech work and find whatever information he needed, with no thought to whether she actually wanted to do it. For years. And more than once, she's ended up banged and bruised, if not worse. He was always apologetic, but the pattern continued.

But her doing the same thing for Oliver bothers Clark. Never mind that she keeps her Watchtower work secret and therefore, she stays relatively safe from meteor freaks and general baddies-unlike the good ole' days.

"If that were for Oliver, if it were about 33.1," Chloe asks Clark, voice cold to her own ears, "would it matter?"

Clark faces her. He is detached and reserved, and his blank face does not belong to the sweet mannered farm boy she grew up with. "You've seen what getting mixed up with Oliver's work leads to, Chloe. You know what he did to Lex."

Lex's death does not sit well with Chloe. She doesn't approve of what Oliver did, though she does understand the motives behind it.

And for the first time, the differences between these two men she has tied her life to stand out starkly in Chloe's mind.

Clark has a very distinct, finite sense of right and wrong. The world is black and white in his eyes. Oliver though, Oliver sees the two colors, and allows for the varying shades of gray to come to light, allows for the flaws in others to be just that; flaws, not betrayals.

If Clark knew about Sebastian Kane…where he put her on his color spectrum?

She nods. "I do. And I understand why he did it."

"Chloe.."

"We're done here, Clark." Walking past him, Chloe keeps her eyes trained forward, jaw clenched, and doesn't let the tears fall until she's safely in her bedroom and the sound of Clark closing her front door behind him reaches her ears.

…0…

In the middle of a three hour conference call with his Taiwan investors, Lois shows up at Oliver's loft and proceeds to sit in the chair opposite his desk with her gaze leveled on him.

He goes on with his business, wondering vaguely if Lois is planning to use this information for a story, or worse as investment tips, before her pointed stare begins to make him uncomfortable so he makes up some excuse about looking at new properties and hangs up.

"Is it eavesdropping if you sit right in front of me?" he asks her after the phone call is over.

Lois shrugs, propping the heels of her high, high boots on the corner his desk. "Don't know. But I have a feeling we're bordering somewhere on the lines of insider trading."

Oliver smirks because, if nothing else, Lois is always entertaining. And even though his gut is telling him that she isn't here to merely shoot the breeze, he knows that he may get a good chuckle or two out of it. Just like he knows that by not responding to her baiting, she'll come right out and admit why she's here instead of beating around the bush.

"So…"

Right on cue.

"I hear that Chloe and Clark are on the outs."

Well, that's news to him.

Lois leans forward, elbows replacing her feet on his desktop. "You wouldn't know anything about that?"

"How would I know?" He tries not to sound defensive. "I haven't seen Chloe in over a week."

Lois's brow arches. "Really?" Her voice is dubious, skeptical.

Has he really been that transparent?

"Yes, really." He tells her. "Not since last Tuesday."

Sitting back, arms crossed, Lois looks smug as hell when she quips, "That is oddly specific for a guy trying so hard to act indifferent."

This is absurd. Oliver Queen is 31 years old, and yet here he sits, in his own apartment, blushing like a schoolgirl all because Lois Lane has stumbled upon the truth that he's becoming more and more infatuated with her cousin with each passing thought of her.

"Why so red?" she teases. "Trying to balance out the green?"

He grimaces. "Ha, ha."

And then, her faces changes. Oliver has never seen someone who so blatantly displays their emotions on their face as Lois does, like flicking a switch. So when her expression stops being friendly and teasing and instead becomes concerned, he's not shocked. Merely worried.

For Chloe. For himself. For the implications running through that head of hers.

"Oliver, I talked to Chloe the other night." Lois is using her reporter voice. That is never good. Maybe he should try to distract her. She did just get back from four months in the future. He figured she'd want to talk about it. "And she played down this whole thing going on between you two-"

"There is no thing between us," he says, and it feels like smashing his fist into the side of a concrete building. "Its just tabloid journalism, no offense."

"Oliver," she says, like he's a toddler and not a grown man, "I have eyes. I see the way you look at her."

He feels himself deflate. Oliver leads a double life, leads a corporation, leads a team. But obviously he has no stealth, not where Chloe Sullivan is concerned.

God. Is he screwed or what?

So he decides to just be direct with Lois. She loves Chloe more than anyone else on this planet, and there was a time when he cared for her deeply. He still respects her, holds her opinion in high regard. The very least he can do is be honest with her. "Lois, I know you're here because you care about Chloe, but you don't need to worry. Not about me. I know better than to try something with her right now."

(He leaves out the part about almost kissing her and the thoughts of what could have happened had Bart not descended upon them. He justifies that that is personal information.)

"But if the circumstances were different?"

Lois's eyes are soft, sympathetic. This can't be easy for her. He once fancied that this woman could have loved him. Maybe she did. Maybe she didn't, but there was that possibility. He aches with all the could have been's lacing the air around them, all the thousand futures that could have come into existence but didn't, leading him here.

"Do you want the honest truth?" he asks.

Deep sigh shaking her shoulders, Lois offers up a tiny smile, an olive branch. "I think I know the answer."

His head tilts. "So why ask the question?"

She stands, pulls her fashionably big bag up on her shoulder. Fixing her eyes on him, Oliver watches the hazel darken to amber and wonders at the reason. "I'm not the only one who needed the confirmation." With that, she turns to leave. Her finger hovers over the elevator button for a split second before she faces him again. "But just so you know; you break my cousin's heart, I break that pretty face of yours."

He smiled. "Noted."

Oliver turns his desk chair around as the sound of his elevator carrying Lois down grows faint and then disappears altogether. Wearily, he stares out over the Metropolis skyline, thinking about all the times he's done this before and dismissed the images and thoughts of Chloe that would infiltrate his brain. He'd paid them no heed at the time, tying her presence in his mind to Clark or buried it beneath ideas of Tess.

He doesn't have that luxury now. Not when so many people have been let in on the truth, himself included.

So what does he do? And more importantly; how does he do it without destroying everything he's built?

…0…

Two weeks to the day, Oliver knocks on Chloe's door, offering up coffee (no way is it too late for coffee), chocolate cookies, and an apologetic smile. "I come bearing caffeine. Truce?"

He's so sincere, so boyish, that her heart warms. Rolling her eyes playfully, she opens her door wide and lets him in.

"A truce isn't really necessary, Oliver," she tells him. "But the coffee is always welcome."

"So I can keep the cookies?"

"Try it and I'll hide your crossbow. You'll have to throw your arrows manually and that is just not scary at all," she teases.

"You are one cruel woman, Sidekick, but agreed." He gives her a big grin and she takes the cup housing her latte

She begins walking towards her computer, throwing words back over her shoulder. It seems like everything is back to normal. "AC just sent me back some great shots of that lab on Malta. I was about to email them before you showed up."

There's a sense of 'something's missing' accompanying her words that she doesn't quite _get_. If anything, there's more there. More of that old camaraderie, more warmth. More of the Chloe and Oliver they used to be.

And it all just feels so wrong.

But she sits and pulls up the photos, zooming in here and there when he points, and magnifying those small details she managed to overlook the first time around.

It's astounding, how much she can be amazed by him when she least expects it.

It feels like it always has. They are Chloe and Oliver, Green Arrow and Watchtower. They fight. They defend.

They bicker.

Oliver keeps trying to take her mouse from her, to click on photos when she's not finished looking at the one before it. She gets exasperated and tries to take it away from him, but Oliver's a gentleman and relinquishes it only to repeat the process.

"Would you rather do this yourself?"

"No, no," he insists. "You're doing great."

It's all very them, and she starts to feel that, just maybe, there is hope here and her fear of entering 'no going back' territory has all been in her head.

Oliver does have a rep after all, and for good reason. He's probably used to situations like this.

They're just about to quit for the night when AC sends another picture and she opens the file to find it fuzzy and damn near undecipherable. Oliver leans over her shoulder, closer, closer still, trying to determine just what it could be.

"Is it…a really big fish?" she guesses.

Oliver snorts. "With AC, you never know. It's probably a girl…" He gives her a grin that falls somewhere left of decidedly flirty and she feels her cheeks heat up. Oliver's face sways closer to hers, his eyes going dark.

"Chloe…" He's going to bring it up, he has to. Of course. "About the other night…"

Is there a graceful way out of this?

She shakes it off. Or rather, she tries. But Oliver is having none of it, cornering her by her staircase when she attempts a getaway.

"Oliver," she says, exasperated. "I don't want to do this."

"Well that's too bad." He catches her arm and then her back is up against the wall with arms on either side of her head and roughly 190 pounds of solid muscle caging her in.

"Oliver."

He arches an eyebrow. "Chloe."

"Move."

Oliver gives her that smug smile of his, the one she's sure that he reserves for times like these, the one that is making her equal parts furious and something…else.

"Make me."

If she could, Chloe would smack him right now. This is not supposed to be happening. He came in and things seemed back to normal, but Lois has put _thoughts_ into her head and it doesn't help that she and Clark are having a difference of opinion, and now everything is so up in the air that she's actually thinking…

But she can't smack him. And she sure as hell can't push him away from her. All she can do is stand and fume silently as his dark eyes probe hers, like he's looking for the meaning of life, going from mirth to something else, something darker, and he breathes out an 'I'm sorry' against her cheek before his lips are on hers and everything else falls away.

…0…

The last place Oliver expected to wake up the day after his conversation with Lois is Chloe's bedroom.

But here he is. And to his surprise, Chloe is still here.

He rolls over and watches the quiet rise and fall of her back as she sleeps, sprawled out on her stomach, one leg over his.

This was a bad idea, he knows that, knows it in his bones. It's too soon; for her, for them.

Then a stray piece of hair falls into her face and his fingers brush it away, following the slope of her cheekbone down and up the line of her jaw.

A vague feeling of panic is beginning to set in. Chloe's going to wake up any second and he does not want to be doing this impersonation of a love struck sap when consciousness sets in and she tells him that her momentary lapse in judgment didn't mean anything.

It's a prospect more frightening than turning Bart loose at a buffet.

And as messed up as the timing is, he can't be sorry that it happened.

Memories of the night before waft back to him, and he smiles despite himself. He certainly can't say he's unhappy about this development, as complicating as it has the potential to be.

He remembers the feel of Chloe's lips on his, her soft skin under his hands, her big eyes darkening, voice husky and no, he can't be unhappy.

But whether or not she's going to be remains the question.

Oliver is almost certain she will be. How could she not; he knew that she wasn't ready to get involved with someone. He knew, but with her tiny frame so close to his and the remembrance of her face the night he almost kissed her dancing through his head, he hadn't been able to control himself.

Oliver does not regret the fact that he kissed her, pulling away and lingering with his face close to hers, giving her the time, the opportunity to stop him.

She didn't.

Chloe had her lips back on his, hard, demanding, not at all what he would have expected, before he could breathe and the rest was a fury of discarded clothes and skin and electricity.

And now he waits for the fallout.

Slowly, Chloe wakes. He can tell by the way her breathing changes, no longer completely even and easy. She takes a deep breath and buries her face into the pillow.

It's when the realization that he finds this utterly adorable takes hold of him that he knows just how deep he's in here.

And idea comes to him, and when the big green eyes flutter open and find his, Oliver tells her good morning and bends his head down to kiss her. She responds, but he feels her hesitancy so he pulls away. "Morning."

A heavy blush rises in her cheeks, making her eyes seem brighter against the color. "Morning." Chloe looks a little sheepish, maybe that she can't entirely wrap her head around what's happened. Then her eyes widen. "Oh, God, it's morning." Rolling away and wrapping the bed sheet around her body, she starts scrambling in her closet. "What time is it?"

He glances at the clock radio next to the bed. "7:20. Where's the fire?"

"I was supposed to meet Lois for breakfast at 7. I'm amazed she hasn't sent the cavalry out for me yet." Dressed, Chloe dashed around her room, tugging on her shoes and pulling open drawers at random. "Where's my phone?"

Oliver smirked. "I think we knocked it off the hall table last night."

Chloe's eyes meet his and her renewing blush sends a familiar heat flooding his body. But before he can act on it, she ducks her head and begins fiddling with the buttons on her jacket. "Oliver…"

Oliver likes to think of himself as a gentleman. So he lets her off the hook. "You better get going before Lois shows up to make sure you're not dead. It might be a touch awkward." He gestures down at his prone, partially covered form.

She nods. Picking up her purse off the dresser, she heads out the door, not even stopping to look back or say goodbye.

He wonders, as he gathers his clothes off the floor of the bedroom and hallway, if he should feel used or not.

…0…

Lois looks thoroughly exasperated when Chloe walks into the restaurant.

"You're half and hour late, I was beginning to think I was being stood up," Lois says, petulant pout on her face.

Chloe sits, hoping she doesn't look so disheveled that it's obvious why she was late. The last thing she needs is for Lois to know that, when she left her apartment, Oliver Queen had been laying in her bed, naked.

"I overslept," she tells Lois. "And then I couldn't find my phone. Sorry."

Well, it's part of the story.

It appears as if that appeases her cousin, so Chloe looks over her menu. Maybe if she eats she'll be able to get rid of this feeling fluttering about in her stomach, the one telling her that she's just made a huge mistake.

Like she needs the guilt of sex with her boss (among other titles) on top of everything else going on in her life.

Halfway through her pancakes, Lois fixes her gaze on Chloe and raises an eyebrow. "So are you going to tell me why you were really late?"

Choking a bit on her third cup of coffee, Chloe coughs and sputters and tries not to look guilty. "I told you."

"That doesn't explain the hickey."

Chloe's eyes widen as her hands fly to her neck and she let out a small squeak of surprise.

It looks like Lois is trying not to laugh-or roll her eyes, Chloe's not sure-and she gives her cousin a look like wouldn't be amiss being used on some pathetic wounded creature.

This is exactly what Chloe had been hoping to avoid.

"I take it that when I tried to call you three times this morning," Lois says, "and once last night too, there was a certain tall drink of water distracting you."

Groaning, Chloe lets her head fall into her hands. "This is so bad."

Lois purses her lips. "From what I remember of when I was with Oliver, 'bad' isn't a word I'd use."

"Oh, ew," Chloe mutters and lifts her head to glare at the brunette. "I did not need that visual, thank you very much."

With a grin, Lois replies "I could say the same thing, Cuz."

Chloe makes a face, blowing her bangs out her face. She does not want to do this right now, she does not want to discuss the previous night with Oliver. Especially not before she discusses it with Oliver himself.

God, what he must be thinking of her right now.

Taking the briefest second to hope that he's left her apartment by now, Chloe tries to determine for herself what her motives had been the night before. It's necessary before she can try and explain them to anybody else.

"Lois," she pleads, "can we please not do this right now?"

She sees the other woman's eyes soften. Patting her hand sympathetically, Lois nods. "Okay. But just so know, I'm here when you do want to do this, okay?"

Chloe nods.

When she gets home, Oliver isn't there, but Bart is, feet propped on her coffee table and half the contents of her refrigerator spread out around him.

"Hey Gorgeous," he greets her. "Where you been this early?"

"Breakfast with Lois." She drops her purse onto the table beside her door. "You know you're doing those dishes?"

"Never doubted it, mamacita." Bart winks at her, making her laugh.

Chloe is used to Bart's particular brand of what he referred to as charm, so when she feels his eyes roaming over her, she's not surprised nor is she offended. Its only when the teasing glint in his eyes disappears and his face registers surprise does she remember the hickey on her neck. "I'm gonna go take a shower. There wasn't really time this morning," she's rambling as she backs out of the room, but doesn't care. "I expect a clean living room-and kitchen-when I come back down."

As she steps under the hot water, Chloe wonders when discretion stopped being one of her fortes.

…0…

Oliver has never been the type to pace in worry, but that's what he's dong right now.

He's already heard from Bart, back from Venezuela and full of stories, and he told him that Chloe was back and in the shower. Taking a millisecond to visualize, Oliver can't help but think about the fact that it's been hours now and he still hasn't heard from her.

Not that he's waiting by the phone or anything.

Conflicting emotions whirl about in his head, and he doesn't know which to pay heed to.

Does he go over there, showing himself to be as hopelessly enamored as he fears he actually is, or does he stay here and wait for her to make contact, running the risk of coming off looking like an unfeeling cad?

There's no time to mull it over any longer though. The sound of his elevator nearing reaches his ears and he turns on his computer screen, pulling up the feed for his security camera.

Chloe.

He tries to pretend he doesn't feel the way his heart lurches and his stomach drops through his feet.

When had he reverted back to adolescence; nervous at the mere thought of a pretty girl?

"I figured if the mountain won't come to Mohammed…" She lets the sentence trail off, fidgeting nervously with her purse strap before the door closes behind her. "Bart said you called and that you sounded, I'm quoting here; more uptight than usual." Her head tipped to the side, lips quirking up. "I had a hunch that I might be the cause."

Oliver comes around to stand in front of her, offering up a wry smile with nothing close to actual mirth behind it. "Is that hunch telling you that I was trying to figure a way to keep you from hating me?"

"Oliver, why would I hate you?" Chloe's eyes go limp, soft. She puts a hand on his arm and he feels it all over. "Its not like you forced me."

"You're not ready." He takes a deep breath as his eyes slip shut. "I knew better."

Chloe walks away from him. She doesn't leave, no. that would be too easy. Too final. Instead, she stands in front of his balcony doors, watching as a small blue bird pecked its way along the concrete floor outside. He can't imagine what's going on in her head, what she must think of him.

He knows he thinks of himself as a heel.

Then she turns back to him, and she's serious and direct and just so Chloe that he rethinks his decision to make up his mind that she's upset before he talked to her.

"The first time I helped you rescue Bart and Clark from that lab, I knew that being the Green Arrow was about more than an ego trip." She goes on, quickly, to avoid the implication of insult. "Its about a calling you feel. Its who you are."

He is, for lack of a better word, astounded.

Chloe licks her lips, goes on. "And one thing I've learned from my tenure as a hero helper is that when you take up a mantle like Green Arrow, you set yourself up for a lifetime of sacrifice."

"Is this about what happened with me and Lois?" he asks, images of Lois's teary eyes floating in his head. "Or Clark and Lana?" He's at her side by now and gazes into her eyes with the pulsating need to be heard, to be known. "Not every relationship ends Chloe." Oliver banishes the thoughts of Jimmy and the sound of Chloe's voice when she got her divorce papers, her eyes, so defeated, at his funeral.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Chloe looks back out over Metropolis below them. "I've never been one of those sappy, boy crazy girls who wastes her life dreaming about a prince charming and happily ever after." She shrugs. "But I do believe in love. And I do believe in destiny."

"Clark," he surmises.

A small chuckle hits his ears. "Clark has a lot to do with it," she admits. "I've been in love twice; with Clark, and with Jimmy. And I've often thought that, if things were different, I could have had a happy ending with either of them."

The idea of Chloe with Clark…yeah, he's not going there.

"So what you're saying," Oliver tucks his hands into his pockets, bringing his body into line beside hers, "is that Oliver Queen isn't a chance worth taking for Chloe Sullivan."

He was looking for a way to help himself get past this. He may as well accept this as his answer.

And it's a bitter pill.

She places a hand on his shoulder, then takes him by surprise when she arches up on her tiptoes and presses a small kiss to his cheek. "He is, I think," she whispers. "Someday. Maybe. If things were different." He watches her eyes water and wants to scoop her up, take her away and change her mind. He wants to show her how wrong she it. "But she isn't. Not now at least."

As the elevator doors close, Oliver fights the feeling that this conversation started something rather than ended it. He clings to the hope that last night, just now, it wasn't unreciprocated.

After all, she did say "someday."

…0…


	3. Chapter 3

…0…

_she took my heart, I think she took my soul_

_-kings of leon, closer_

…0…

Things seem to be back to normal for the most part.

There is still that bit of tension in the air when she and Oliver get too close to one another, but Chloe supposes it could be worse.

Bart knows, she thinks. She knows he suspects. He'd let his eyes linger on the spot on her neck where her hickey had been until it faded and now he keeps throwing all these little knowing smirks her way whenever Oliver gets within two feet of her.

So she feels no guilt over asking him to run errands all over the globe whenever he starts in with those innuendoes he does so well.

And as far as Oliver getting within two feet of her, well, that's rare.

There was a time, pretty much since they met, that Oliver thought nothing about getting close to her; leaning into when they talked, placing a hand on her arm when he was explaining something, getting right in her face when they argued. She knew the smell of his cologne, the outline of his shoulders, the way the heat of his skin felt brushing hers long before they spent the night together.

But she tries not to dwell on those thoughts. That road leads down a path she isn't ready to tread, and after their talk in his loft, she feels will never be an option to her again.

It's funny, Chloe muses, when a choice you didn't make compounds into more regret than the ones you did.

"You look like a woman who is thinking much too hard."

Smiling, Chloe turns her chair around to see Victor leaning against her doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, face a mask of amused inquiry.

"Yeah, well, you know how it goes," she says, "just so much going on up here." Chloe gestures at her head. "It's probably worse when there is actual circuits up there to process everything."

He chuckles good naturedly. "Sometimes I have to force myself to sleep."

Walking over to her computer, he punches a few buttons until her file list appears. He's the only one who can get away with touching her computer with no admonishments and he knows it. "Anything knew?"

"Nope. The bad guys are suspiciously quiet," she tells him.

Victor frowns. "That doesn't sound good."

"Hence 'suspiciously'" she quips, grinning when he makes a face at her. Her eyes fall on a bag just barely visible from the door. "Need a place to reboot for a few days?"

Of all the guys, Victor is the one she actually likes having around the house. He doesn't clean out her fridge like Bart or use up all the water like AC (or mess with her head like Oliver…among other things). He likes to cook and works miracles on her computers and will watch anything on television she wants.

They have the kind of ease she and Pete had back when they were younger, when things were good.

Pete calls her often since his last visit to Smallville, and calls a few days after she and Oliver have their talk, and he listens and is understanding.

As much as she likes having Victor around, Pete is a little more objective.

And he doesn't work with Oliver, so she avoids that pesky awkwardness problem.

If only she could do that for herself. But as it stands now, she gets within thinking distance of a certain tall blonde and all the nerve endings in her body light up and send queasy feeling down to settle in the pit of her stomach.

When the rest of the team is all actually in town they do a basic info session in her living room and then everyone just up and disappears while she's getting more coffee. Even Victor has gone up to bed. Dinah's still there, lingering a little too long by the open front door, laughing too obviously at whatever Oliver has just said.

Chloe's not blind. She sees the way Dinah's eyes follow Oliver, so intent and possessive, like a predator stalking her next meal.

Its like a car crash, and she can't look away.

Oliver is clearly uncomfortable with Dinah's attempts at flirting, with her hand on his arm. She keeps leaning into him and stepping closer, only to have him move away discreetly and when she finally does leave there's a hint of pink in Oliver's cheeks that Chloe's not accustomed to seeing and he clears his throat uncomfortably.

With a grin that she couldn't wipe off if she tried, she gathers up the papers and files on the coffee table and stacking them just so.

"You can duck your head all you want," Oliver says, adopting an annoyed tone. "I see you smirking."

She straightens, full out grinning now. "Sorry."

"Uh-huh."

Rolling her shoulders in a shrug, Chloe picks up the stack and walks through the hallway to her office. "I take it the inclination to mix business with pleasure isn't something you're interested in?"

He follows her, leaning against her doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. "Not with Dinah," he says, and they both freeze.

Looking anywhere but at Oliver, Chloe clears her throat and starts to do a routine check on their various surveillance cameras, moving on swiftly to checking for any tips that their sources may have sent her way. Anything to keep from acknowledging the huge elephant that was now sitting in the middle of the room.

She feels him come up behind her. Chloe senses him behind her; his scent, the warmth of him, she feels it.

And she almost hates herself a little for allowing it to affect her.

Before this, before the night they don't mention, back when she trusted him implicitly, none of this was a factor.

But that was before Davis, before Jimmy died, and she could trust her own judgment as well.

"Chloe," he whispers and she can feel it along the back of her neck like he's touching her, "I'm sorry. I said that without thinking."

"Its okay." Facing him is the last thing she wanted to do right now. There's a tremor of fear running in a strong current underneath her skin, the kind that makes her want to crawl underneath the covers and hide until the urge to kiss him again passes because that, in a nutshell, is what she's really afraid of. "Awkwardness ensues when you let the hormones come out to play."

Chloe fell in love with Clark with she was 15 years old, because he was cute and sweet and had the perfect nice guy manners and humble disposition and when she was 19 she opened her heart up to Jimmy for more than a summer romance and felt the awe inspiring sensation of being adored that she'd never experienced before, only to lose it all amidst lies and secrets and an inexplicable draw to someone masking an unimaginable rage.

Oliver…he's different.

There are no high ideals waiting to crash down around her head, no adorable cheesiness. Only a growing pull to a man she respects, a man she has alternately admired and doubted. A man she has known for years and never before thought of this way.

Yes, its true that she had felt a tiny zing of attraction the first time they met in the Kent barn, but it was an objective sort of appreciation. She'd said wow and she meant it, following the line of his back and the slope of his shoulders until he disappeared from sight. But he'd belonged to Lois then and she placed Oliver Queen and all that made him so wow worthy in the platonic hands off place (where she'd tried to put Clark for so long) and left him there.

Where he stayed.

Until now.

…0…

Oliver is fairly certain his entire board has realized that his mind is elsewhere than the new contracts. Howard, the lawyer that was there when his father first laid the groundwork for what would later become Queen Industries, gives him a look reminiscent of his fifth grade English teacher when he tried to do a third book report on a new issue of Warrior Angel and calls it quits for the day.

"Oliver," he says in that kindly grandfather voice he has, "is there something on your mind?"

Not something. Someone.

He smiles, dismissive. "Nothing that should derail a deal two years in the making."

Howard surmises that quickly; Oliver's demeanor, his lack of focus, his snappishness. "Girl trouble."

He was about to protest, but one look at the sympathy on the face of a man who had known him his entire life had Oliver collapsing back into his desk chair with a heavy sigh that feels like it comes up from the bottom of his soul. "Trouble doesn't even begin to cover it."

Oliver tells him what he can. He tells him about Jimmy, about Davis (not the alien aspect), about Clark and Lois, about the night he and Chloe spent together.

Howard smiles an indulgent smile-the non physical equivalent of patting him on the head that makes Oliver feel like he's eight years old. And strangely enough, for the first time he thinks the look comforting instead of patronizing. "She sounds like a tough cookie."

Oliver chuckles. "That's one way to put it."

"And you think you wrecked whatever it is the two of you had going on by acting too soon after her husband's death?"

"Ex husband." Oliver is fast to correct.

Howard lays a kind, heavy hand on the younger man's shoulder. "If she still loved him, he was her husband."

Those words replay over and over in Oliver's head for several hours after he's gone home and worked his way through a bottle of Scotch. He's just starting on the brandy one of his board members sent him for his last birthday when the elevator door opens and Chloe steps out, confusion on her pretty face.

"You summoned." She plants her hands on her hips and taps one foot in impatience.

Oliver raises his head off the arm of the couch and looks at her. "I did?"

He watches the gears in Chloe's head working, her eyes shifting from side to side as she works it over in his head and then finally land on the bottles on his coffee table. "Did you drunk dial me?"

He picks up his phone from where he dropped it on the floor to check for proof of such a call, over reaching when it skitters under the sofa and he ends up rolling off and onto the floor. Hard. "Ow."

A giggle escaping her, Chloe walks over and drops down onto her knees beside his prone form. "You okay?"

"The floor is spinning," he tells her.

Chloe looks at the bottles, gone and half-gone, and shakes her head. "I don't doubt that. Here," she takes hold of his arm to help him stand, "let's get you off of the spinning floor and onto something soft and stationary."

The trip down the hall to Oliver's bedroom takes about twice as long as usual, owing to the fact that Oliver keeps stumbling. Given that he's roughly twice her size, they repeatedly end up crashing into the wall.

Bruised, drunk, and annoyed, Oliver flops onto his bed with a grunt, not even caring what Chloe must be thinking of him right now.

"You know, " he hears her voice, but can't quite focus on the words through his haze, "I'm relatively certain that getting drunk in the middle of the week is bad idea. Especially for someone who both heads a Fortune 500 company and prowls the night with a compound bow."

He mumbles into his pillow and rolls over onto his back, letting heavy eyes rake over her tiny frame. The alcohol in his system and the air of irritation leaning towards anger are heating up in his bloodstream. He gives her a long, lazy smile and attempts to toe his shoes off over the side of the bed.

All he succeeds in doing a makeshift pantomime of step dancing.

"You can pull that look back in right now," she tells him. Walking over, she takes hold of one of his feet and tugs his shoe off, dropping it to the floor and repeating the process on the other foot. "We talked about this already."

Oliver snorts. "Talking's overrated." Even drunk, he is much stronger than her, and its an easy fete to tug on her wrist to pull her down on top of him.

Chloe rolls her eyes and easily manages to extract herself and stand up by his feet. "Enough of that. Sleep it off and I'll see you in the morning." She walks over and flips his light off, covering the room in darkness.

True to her word, Chloe is still there when Oliver wakes up with the feeling of his skull being split open. He groans and its as if the noise summons her. "Room still spinning?"

"No," he chokes out. "Just my head tearing itself apart."

With sympathetic eyes, Chloe walks over and hands him a bottle of water and a bottle of aspirin. He thanks her and gulps the water greedily. The events from the night before begin to flit through his brain and all it takes is one look at her face to know that he did in fact, make a fool of himself the night before.

Clearing his throat, Oliver feels his face heat up, uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Chloe, about last night-"

"Its fine," she assures him, her voice taking on that 'I know what I'm doing, don't question me' tone she adopts sometimes. He remembers, vividly, the last time she talked to him that way; when she used that alien computer to save Clark and Lois and he had ended up knocked across the Isis floor like a rag doll.

Standing, and only wobbling a little, Oliver looks down into her big eyes to find them nervous, wary.

"Chloe," he places his hands on her shoulders, "its not fine. I'm sorry. About everything."

He's not only talking about a drunken come on, or about their one night of submission. No, Oliver is referring to all the dark moments, the angry words, the distrust that has passed between them that he wishes he could take back.

There's never been anyone in Oliver's life that he wants to trust him as much as he does the woman standing in front of him, but there have been many times, such as this one, when he sees her face the night she begged him to spare Davis and wonders if that will ever truly be possible.

"No apologies necessary in the fight for the greater good. We all do what we have to."

He shakes his head. "And sometimes we do what we do to soothe our wounded egos."

She stares up at him, vulnerable, open. Is this the moment he has been waiting for? He wants it to be, but finally his common sense kicks in. His mind has been spinning in circles for weeks, and all the roads have lead him to believe that there will be a perfect moment, and there are the easy moments.

This is an easy moment.

Chloe is looking at him like she could love him if given the chance, but she looked at him this same way the night they slept together. Attraction and respect aren't mutually exclusive, but they don't always go hand in hand.

He will not make the same mistake twice.

…0…

The fragrant air of autumn fades into something cleaner, something purer, and by the time the first snow falls outside Chloe's window there is an order in her life that she has never really known before.

In effort to 'keep her safe' the team has started having their meetings at Oliver's penthouse when he's in town, and now only one of them stays with Chloe at a time. Oliver insists that they shouldn't be together, all of them, too often. Discretion is vital, he says, and now that Clark helps out on a regular basis it's the one thing they agree on.

All the transferring of files is done over the computers now too. No longer does Oliver drop by her place with a stack of surveillance photos or a list of possible targets.

And to be honest, she misses it.

Turns out that having Oliver keep his distance-what she thought she wanted-makes her feel lonelier than before.

She buries herself in Isis work, and Lois's decreasingly frequent nights off are the only social life she has to speak of at this point. Every once in a while Victor or Bart will pop up and usually they head right to sleep.

As hard as it is to admit, Chloe is lonely, the people in her life scattering like a handful of dust in the wind and Oliver is the latest to go that route.

Christmas draws near and he begins to call everyone back to Metropolis as a crime wave of superhuman proportions racks the city; looting, murders, destruction of near epic proportions. Lois is salivating at all the opportunities this presents for her and fuming that Clark somehow seems to have more of an inside track than she does. She calls Chloe up and works herself into a frenzy about how Clark had already written a story about a high profile robbery before she even knew it had happened.

Chloe sits in Oliver's loft, with Clark, AC, and the thief in question while Lois rants.

The guys drop the crook off at the police station and Chloe sets about finishing up her Christmas shopping. She's already gotten everyone else, but she can't figure out what to do about Oliver.

The year before, when they'd been acquaintances turned coworkers bordering on friends it had been simple. She'd bought him a deep green sweater, he got her a gift card to her favorite tech store.

She still hasn't reached the limit on it.

Something tells her that isn't going to be the case this year.

Finally, cold and out of ideas, she finds a first edition of _Robin Hood_ and has it gift wrapped.

Too bad there isn't an etiquette book about what to buy a friend you sort of don't trust and that you've recently had sex with she could have picked up for herself.

She only hopes he doesn't think she's poking fun at his alter ego.

Lois plans to spend the night with her on Christmas Eve, showing up a little buzzed from the Daily Planet office party, going on and on about mistletoe. Bart is there and dashes off to retrieve a sprig that he proceeds to loom over his head the rest of the night.

"Chloe," Lois slurs and drapes her arms around her younger cousin, "you need a guy." She thinks for a second, lips pursed. "Come to think of it, I do too. Let's go find some!" She spreads her arms wide and turns toward the door only to get tangled in her own heels and falls on top of Bart on Chloe's couch.

Raising her eyebrows, Chloe bobs her head. "Sure, Cuz. We'll get on that first thing."

That seems to pacify Lois and she falls asleep, her head lolling on to Bart's shoulder.

Bart stares at the brunette, amused and then looks at Chloe. "You know, you lovely ladies don't need to look far."

Chloe laughs, sipping her eggnog and watches the white piling up on the streets outside her window. She snuggles down into the overstuffed armchair that she bought when she first moved into after Jimmy's funeral and pulls her blanket up around her shoulders. When the silence hits her (Bart is never _quiet_) she swivels around and finds his eyes on her, thoughtful.

"You're uncharacteristically quiet over there, Bart. You're making me nervous."

Shaking his head, Bart eases Lois over, placing a pillow under her head as he settles her head against the arm of the couch. Chloe's not sure why, but she's surprised by the tenderness with which Bart handles Lois, how careful he is.

When he looks back at her, his face is more serious than Chloe has even seen him before. "I don't think it'd be the worst idea."

As fast as her brain computes, it takes Chloe a few seconds to put that together and what she comes up with is Lois's drunken ramblings.

Not what she was expecting.

"Bart," she begins, standing up and tossing her blanket over Lois, "you know I love you, but that subject is off limits."

"Fine, fine." He puts his hands up in defense before leaning over and picking up a small box in silver paper from under her tree. (That she hasn't seen before.) Handing it to her, Bart tells her goodnight and heads up the stairs.

The box says its from Oliver, and feels very light in her hands.

She really hopes its not jewelry.

Her hopes go unfounded, and she peels the pretty sparkly paper back to see a bracelet laying inside; a thin silver chain with a tiny charm in the shape of a lighthouse hanging from it.

But not just a lighthouse she realizes. A watchtower.

Underneath it is a ticket, a plane ticket, obviously mocked up, for his private jet so she can go whenever she likes to visit her dad.

Choking up, Chloe fastens the bracelet around her wrist, taking a second to admire the way the metal feels against her skin. She grabs her coat and purse, stuffs her feet into her boots and dashes out the door.

Oliver doesn't answer when she calls any of his cell phones, so she calls his assistant even though she hates to do so and then she's turning off on Jefferson Street in the direction of the Metropolis airport.

This isn't the first time Chloe has shown up at the airport looking for Oliver, so the security working the gate lets her through without questions as soon as she assures them she has her passport-just in case.

The plane must have been about to take off, Oliver is already in his seat about to buckle up when she walks in.

"Chloe?" He jumps out of his seat and looks at her in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just…I need to talk to you." She fiddles with her purse strap nervously.

Oliver exhales, wipes a hand over his face. "And it couldn't wait until I got back?"

"I can't accept that ticket, Oliver. Its too much."

The air in the cabin eases a thousand fold in the seconds it takes Chloe to say it. An easy smile breaks over his face and he chuckles in relief. "Chloe, with all the work you do for me, the least I can do is provide you with a way to see your father."

She smiles. "Don't you think the fake ticket was a little cutesy?"

Shrugging, he gives her a lopsided smile that make her insides quiver. "It's Christmas, Chloe. Just accept your present like a good girl and go enjoy your holiday. I'm sure Lois is face first in the eggnog by now and could use some looking after."

"You don't know the half of it," she murmurs under her breath. Something is niggling at her. Oliver has sat back down and is leafing through a glossy folder with the Queen Industries logo on the front. There's more to this and she wants to know what it is.

Sitting down across from him, Chloe pulls her coat off and dusts of her most determined reporter face to fix on him. "So, where we going?"

...0...


	4. Chapter 4

…0…

"_To say the truth, reason and love keep little company together." _

_Midsummer Night's Dream act 3 sc 1_

…0…

He's embarrassed to admit it, but having Chloe on the jet with him makes him nervous.

Not nervous in the traditional way that a pretty girl might make a guy nervous, but more of a worried he'd step out of line nervous.

They don't need to go down that uncomfortable road again.

Oliver gets dozens of funding requests a week, so the packet from India that found its way to the top of his pile was nothing new. But the timing, wanting to see him before the New Year, was seemingly perfect and the idea of getting several thousand miles of land and water between him and Chloe had been like an answer to his prayers.

Of course she had to go and barge her way on to his plane, armed with her passport, refusing to leave.

He just can't win.

About two hours in she fall asleep, and he tries in vain to keep his eyes on the folders he's brought with him, books, magazines, even his DVD stash, but nothing is working. His gaze keeps straying to her and he traces the lines of her face with his eyes like he can't do with his hands.

Thankfully, he falls asleep a few hours later, and Chloe is absorbed in a copy of Dickens he keeps around for long flights and doesn't realize he's woken up.

It takes several minutes (in which he studies her brow crinkling in thought as she reads) but eventually it seems that she can feel him watching her and her head turns, eyes meeting his. "Hey."

Oliver sits up, stretches the awkward position from his muscles, and yawns. "Morning. Where are we?"

"About an hour outside Mumbai."

He nods and gets up to pour himself some coffee. He can see that she already has a cup, but he does offer her a muffin, which she takes and they sit in silence until the squealing of tires on the tarmac makes them both jump.

…0…

When they finally get to the ashram that Oliver has come to see, that is in dire financial straits, the tension between them falls to the back burner.

Waiting for them at the campfire in the epicenter of the camp is Gil Hawke, a man Oliver met back in college. Back then, Oliver had dismissed a lot of Gil's talk of spirituality and peace as nothing more than the rambling of a new era hippie covering for the fact that he really just wanted to smoke a lot of pot.

But when Oliver got back from that island, he found a message from Gil in his pile of well wishes waiting for him with the word that the Queen heir was alive and the simple words on plain lined paper touched something in Oliver, and he sought his old classmate out for lunch and Oliver ended up in India the next month learning ancient mysticism and meditation high in the Ganges.

They've kept in touch, and when the ashram moved down onto the coast, they found the upkeep to be more difficult.

Smiling wide, Gil walks toward Oliver and gives him a hearty hug and introduces him to Chloe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, welcome." Gil takes her hands in his and Oliver's smile broadens when he notices the genuine affection on Chloe's face.

"Thank you." She looks around, at the beach and the tents, at the people in their mix of Western and traditional Indian attire. "Wow, it's really beautiful here."

He gives them a tour, his freckled face expressive, shaggy red hair flopping in the wind as he introduces them to several other members and slowly explains to Chloe the history and tradition of ashrams that gives way to a lesson in Hindu tradition, yoga, and the benefits of surfing.

She turns her head to Oliver; face more relaxed than he's seen her in weeks, and asks him if he surfs.

"Well, maybe a little," he confesses, "but don't tell AC."

Just then a woman walks up to them, and winds her hand through Gil's. He introduces her as his wife, Sandra, but she goes by Moonday now. Oliver can tell that Chloe is momentarily as struck by her as he is. She's striking; tall, with waist length hair like ebony silk, smooth cocoa colored skin, and almond shaped eyes that look almost black with the squinting in the bright sun.

She and Gil exchange a pointed look which leads her to ask Chloe if she'd like to see where dinner was being prepared, subtly, so the men could talk about the real reason Oliver decided to fly halfway around the world on Christmas Eve.

Besides getting away from the tiny blonde currently walking barefoot along the sand away from him.

…0…

After a delicious dinner of rice, lentil, and spiced vegetables all cooked in the vegetarian tradition, and Punjab folk music played live as the sun was setting, Oliver sits back, happy to have the business talk over and the stress of Metropolis life waiting thousands of miles away.

He watches Chloe, across the fire, as Moonday and another woman show her the jewelry they make and sell in the city streets to help out with the expenses any way they can. She tries to buy something apparently, but he sees Moonday shake her head and press it into Chloe's hand.

He sees what it is later, as Gil is showing them to their accommodations-a thick gold bangle bracelet with a mix of Indian and Sanskrit etchings that tells of the tradition of Yajnas, sacrifices and penance, in the ashram history.

"Here we are." Gil stops in front of a tent, face open and friendly. "Sleep well."

A look passes between him and Chloe and he pulls his old friend to the side. "Um, Gil, is there possibly another tent somewhere?" He looks quickly over his shoulder to see Chloe trying too hard to not look uncomfortable. "See, the thing is," his words are clumsy feel heavy on his tongue and he hates it, "Chloe and I aren't…"

Realization dawns on Gil's face. "Oh. I'm sorry, I just assumed…the way you were looking at her, I was sure the two of you were together."

Oliver fights the urge to squirm.

"I'm afraid there aren't any more available, but maybe I can-"

"No, no." Oliver interrupts. "We'll make do."

He can see that Chloe knows he hasn't had any luck by the way her face falls when he meets her eyes. And just like that, the very air has shifted and the tension that's been brewing between them since fall is back.

"Chloe, I can sleep on the beach or something. It wouldn't be the first time."

Her face softens, and she grabs his sleeve. "Don't be crazy. If I bring you home with malaria I'm never going to hear the end of it." They step inside and zip the flap back down to keep the bugs at bay. "Besides, we're adults. I don't think one night in the same tent is going to end the world."

So they settle in, each in a tent in the middle of the tent, tossing shoes and bags to the side. He tries not to stare when Chloe pulls her thin long sleeve shirt off, leaving her in a tiny tank top. He debates whether or not to yank his tee shirt over his head-it would be more comfortable in the humidity, but he's worried about what kind of impression it might give her.

Finally, he does, quickly, and snuggles into his sleeping bag before she can get the wrong idea.

There's a lantern that sits an arms length away, an old fashioned brass one that uses oil, and he blows the wick out as soon as he sees Chloe has zipped up her own sleeping bag.

From what Oliver remembers of his high school physics class, it should be impossible to feel emotions in any type of physical way. Biology taught him that feelings can manifest themselves into symptoms, but as far as the tent filling up with awkwardness of wanting her and knowing every reason why it's a bad idea, well, that's just not possible no matter how much he can swear he feels it.

Chloe's voice finally breaks the heavy silence. "Are you asleep?"

Oliver rolls over. "You kidding?"

He hears her chuckle, hears the fabric of her sleeping bag rustle as she moves. "It is a little hard with that elephant taking up all the room and oxygen, isn't it?"

There's a little makeshift mesh window cut out on his side of the tent, and the moonlight is just bright enough that he can see her and her smile aches of teasing and genuine lightheartedness. He wants pretend like _that grin_ doesn't seep under his skin and melt his heart like candle wax, he knows better and feigning otherwise would be lying.

"We do keep feeding him," he says and his voice whispers of "control yourself," even to his own ears. Her smile slips, but he goes on. "I'm one of those 'I can't go for that,' types," he remarks. "I get it, but it still sucks."

Sitting up, Chloe brings both of her legs up underneath her and looks at him in confusion. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Sighing, Oliver rolls over onto her back. This will be easier to say without looking at her, without seeing her looking back. "It means just that," he explains. "I know that, someday, you're going to be able to open your heart to someone, and I want that for you Chloe, I do. You're amazing and you deserve to have someone love you." Now he does look at her, twisting his neck and locking the gaze of her big green eyes in his own. "And when that happens, God, I am going to die with jealousy, not even gonna lie." She grins at that, not even trying to hide it. "But no one ever actually dies of a broken heart."

"Yeah, but no one really lives with one either."

His heart, thudding erratically in time with the rushing of his blood at his confession, cracks at the sadness on her face, the pained knowledge lacing her words. He wants to fix that hurt for her, wants to reach deep inside of her and try to piece together the fragments of that big heart of hers left splintered by Jimmy, by Davis, by Clark.

He knows its wrong, but Oliver can't stop himself from untangling his legs from the thick fabric surrounding him and crouching in front of her.

Her breath hitches when his thumb presses against the corner of her bottom lip, the tips of his fingers flexing over the soft skin of her cheek. Searching her eyes, he gives her the opportunity to stop him

She doesn't.

When their lips touch, it's with a sigh, a whimper, hot breath and soft lips melding together, sweetness overflowing from her mouth into his.

Barely touching, Oliver's lips skim her mouth from one corner to the other, thousands of pulse points awakening under his skin when she responds and all those pockets deep inside him that have remained empty for so long fill up, brimming to the surface, and he's close to exploding with need of her.

He pulls away, though it takes all the strength he possesses. "Chloe," he grinds his teeth with the struggle to be noble. "I don't know if I can stop."

"Don't," she breathes, her hands clutching at his biceps and he can hardly believe his ears. "I'm tired of being afraid. Oliver," her voice catches, teeth digging into her bottom lip, "ready or not, these feelings aren't going away, and ignoring them…it might be the bigger mistake."

Again, he leans in, all hesitancy gone, and together as one they crumble, crashing into each other until there is no more room left between them, falling back onto Chloe's sleeping bag, hands seeking purchase wherever possible.

Oliver breathes her in, refusing even for a second, to contemplate any outcome any less than perfect stemming from tonight.

…0…

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Chloe turns her head, feeling a smile spread over her face when the sound of a deep voice, husky with sleep, reaches her ears. Oliver is still behind her, and just the small movement of her neck allows her to look up into his eyes, alight with mischief.

"A penny?" she teases. "All the money in the world, and that's your opening offer?"

He grins at her, making all the corners of her body come alive. "Maybe I can work off the payments instead." Leaning down, Oliver presses his lips to the skin below her jaw and she feels her head fall back, a sigh bubbling up from deep within.

The sun is rising and the camp around them is waking, the sounds of life beginning on either side of their tent. Groaning, Chloe stretches her arms out, feeling her muscles protesting after what she put them through the night before. "I kind of wish we could stay here."

Oliver settles down alongside her, head propped in one hand, the other playing with the ends of her hair. "We can," he says softly. "We can stay as long as you want, or we can go somewhere else, anywhere else. Just say the word."

God, the offer is so tempting. To just pick a place, any place she wants, where she and Oliver can hole up and hide from the world, indefinitely.

"I would love that," she tells him, letting her fingers thread through his thick hair, "but I left Lois in my apartment on Christmas Eve, drunk, and didn't even tell her I was leaving."

He shrugs. "She'll get over it."

"Bart was there."

"Oh." Comprehension dawns on his features, and he laughs. "I don't know who to be more concerned for."

She laughs as well, and untangles herself from him, which he does not make easy for her by any means, and begins to pull her clothes back on. After several minutes more, Oliver emits a deep sigh and follows her lead, tugging his clothes and shoes back on.

He stops her when she goes to unzip the tent flap and she looks at him, amused but curious. "What?"

Pressing a quick, firm kiss to her lips, Oliver rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "Gil gave us one tent, but this is still a pretty conservative country. Just trying to be discreet."

Chloe beams at him. "Aren't you the gentleman?"

He gives that lopsided grin, the first one he ever gave her, standing in Clark's barn, when the only thing she could get through her brain was trying not to act like a bumbling schoolgirl in front of the cute, famous, billionaire and her stomach flutters, identical to the way it did then.

Breakfast, fresh fruit and newly baked bread, goes smoothly and she talks with Moonday again, listening raptly to the story of how she came to end up in India, of leaving home in England when she was a teenager and traveling around the world, meeting Gil in Israel, and a whirlwind wedding on the beach in Crete.

Again, Chloe is struck by how lovely the other woman is, and knows now that it's thanks to a mixed heritage of Korean and Nigerian, and probably a childhood in Paris and then London. Her voice is soft, heavily accented, and she speaks with deliberation in heavy English.

People like this, women like this, is what Oliver is used to and she watches him intently talking with Gil and a tall Indian man with salt and pepper hair, easy smile on his face and she thinks that, in his way, Oliver is just as beautiful as the woman sitting beside her. Equally as beautiful as Lois, who had captivated him in a millisecond, or Tess, who'd retained a hold over him for years. While she doesn't think she's without her own type of attractiveness, Chloe knows that she's no Lois, no supermodel like so many of the girls Oliver dates, and somehow, he still wants her.

Feeling her eyes on him, Oliver looks at her, the corners of his lips curving up, and winks at her.

…0…

Lois, as expected, is furious.

"You left me with mini Casanova-on Christmas no less-without a word." It seems like there's been more drinking going on as Lois sits across from her in the café around the corner from her apartment in large sunglasses, a grimace twisting her face. "Are you going to tell me where you disappeared to?"

Chloe feels a blush rising up in her face and struggles to keep it at bay, but it's not easy. Lois has always been able to read her pretty easily and her voice is laced with suspicions.

After all, she was the first one to start finger pointing in Oliver's direction.

Well, after the Daily Planet that is.

"Can I plead the fifth?"

Pursing her lips and setting down the strong coffee, Lois leans back in her chair and lowers her sunglasses so she can look her cousin in the eyes. "Sure, but doing so gives me permission to make it up in my head and it will involve a certain businessman slash crime fighter we both know, also suspiciously absent the last three days."

She's busted and she knows it, but that doesn't mean that Chloe is going to cave.

"Have it your way," she tells Lois, going for that disinterested air that she's never been very good at. Doesn't mean she's gonna stop trying though.

"You forget who you're talking to Little Cuz. I'm not the Planet's best up and comer for nothing."

Chloe snorts. "What are you going to do, Lois? Check the flight manifest for the Queen Jet, sneak a peek at our passports?"

"Aha!" Lois shouts, drawing looks, and her finger points in Chloe's face in triumphant glee.

Shushing her, Chloe casts apologetic looks at the other patrons and lowers her voice. Maybe Lois will take the hint and follow suit. "What aha?"

"You said passports," Lois explains. "Plural. Meaning you were both out of the country, and on Oliver's private jet. Why be all supersleuthy when you give me all I need between the lines."

Eyes narrowing, Chloe glares at her cousin and her astuteness. "I hate you."

Erupting in laughter, Lois smiles for the first time since walking in the door. "I knew it."

She leans in, face mischievous. "So…details."

"Lois, we're in public."

"So?" She signals for another cup of coffee. "It's not like it's a subject that all of these grown people are unfamiliar with." She looks around, makes a face. "Well, maybe with the exception of that guy."

It looks like she has no choice, so she submits, groaning and letting her head fall into her hands. "Are we really that obvious?"

Scoffing, Lois sips greedily from her refreshed coffee. "Only to people who have eyes." Off Chloe's grunt of indignation, she continues. "The first time I really looked at the two of you together I could see it Chloe. There's serious heat between you two. Not knowing exactly how long you two have been in cahoots with the whole secret identities thing (Chloe tries to shush her, discretion is part of the game) I have no idea when exactly it started, but obviously whatever there is between you two has been building up for a long time, way before you slept with him." She grins. "The first time that is."

Chloe feels her cheeks flare up in mortification. "Well its good to know that Oliver and I have been radiating sexual tension for God only knows how long."

Lois takes out her wallet and pulls a few bills out, placing them under her coffee cup. "Sexual tension is tame compared to the kind of burning you guys do when you think no one is looking at you."

She has no idea what that means, but it sounds…intriguing. "Burning?"

"The way he looks at you could melt a glacier, Chlo. We're talking bedroom eyes the likes of which I doubt even Hugh Hefner could imagine. I bet your 'trip' was amazing." She finger quotes the word trip in her sentence, a habit she's always had, and her innuendo comes with a shoulder bump a huge Cheshire cat grin.

"My embarrassment aside," Chloe says, "you're not upset that I basically ditched you on Christmas, are you?"

Lois shakes her head. "Nah. I would never begrudge you any fun, Chlo-even if you did leave me with Speedy Gonzales and his wandering hands. "

Panic hits Chloe and she whirls on her cousin. "Lois, you didn't do anything to Bart, did you?"

Her answer is accompanied by a smile; big, bright, and deceptively innocent. "Nothing permanent."

…0…

Chloe is getting dressed for what she's been told is going to be an amazing night when Oliver calls to tell her he's been called to an emergency meeting in Egypt and he's already on his way to the airport.

"I'm sorry, Chloe. I'm going to be in meetings for days, and one of my board members is meeting me at the jet, I can't get out of it. You can come though, I may be able to steal time for a midnight kiss somewhere over Portugal."

Disappointment settling in the pit of her stomach, she sets down the makeup brush she'd been using and hopes that her voice doesn't convey what she's really feeling. "Its okay, Oliver. It's not like you planned this."

"I'll make it up to you," he promises.

Dressed in sweats and armed with chick flicks and coffee ice cream, she settles on her couch for a night with Hugh Grant and Ryan Reynolds when she hears a knock on her door.

"Lois?"

Breezing in, Chloe sees that, under her long coat, her cousin is wearing her old pastry pajamas and her fraying bunny slippers. She sets down two pizzas with two bottles of wine balanced on top.

"You can't have a good stag New Years without booze and greasy calories," Lois explains as she opens the lid on a fully loaded deep dish pizza.

Chloe sits beside her on the couch. "Not that I don't appreciate the rescue from a solo night in, but Lois, what are you doing here?"

"Oliver called me," she says, that 'duh' look on her face. "So I bailed on the lame office party and its stale beer and decided to ring in the New Year with my favorite cousin."

"I'm your only cousin."

Lois waves her hand. "Semantics. Now," she rubs her hands together excitedly, "what movies do we have?"

The night is fun, and just what Chloe needed, even if she does fall asleep before midnight actually rolls around.

Chloe can't remember the last time she was out before two at the earliest.

Oliver calls her to say Happy New Year and tells her he's going to be home in a few days only to call on his way back to Metropolis to tell her about a lead AC has come across in Sydney and that he has to follow up on it.

Good thing he travels with an emergency Green Arrow back up kit.

Lois has seemingly picked up the assignment of keeping her busy with Oliver out of the country. She appreciates the gesture, but trying to do her Watchtower duties is difficult with a 5'8 shadow by her side.

"You don't have to keep me company while Oliver's gone," she tells her during a Guitar Hero marathon during week three of Operation Occupy Chloe, "I've had practice spending my evenings solo."

"But being alone when you have an absentee hottie boyfriend is different than it is when you're single," Lois says, using her most authoritative voice.

Chloe ushers her out the door, ignoring her protests of going out for a late night ice cream binge. She's chronically exhausted lately and really just wants to go to bed with the left over Chinese in the fridge. "I have an arsenal in my trunk and a team of superheroes on speed dial. I'll be fine."

Finally alone, she digs in to the cold noodles and relishes in the silence for however long she has it.

Waking up to the sound of the phone ringing, Chloe contemplates throwing it against the wall. Five hours of sleep is just not enough anymore.

"Hello?"

"Hey." Oliver's warm voice flows over the line, making her smile without even realizing it. "Did I wake you?"

She assures him that it's okay. "I need to get up and head in to Isis anyway."

"Anyone ever tell you that you work too hard, Sidekick?"

Throwing back the covers and stuffing her feet into the fuzzy slippers Lois gave her for Christmas and makes her way downstairs, phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder to turn on the coffee pot. "Once or twice, but I have this rowdy bunch of heroes I have to play mother hen for. It's a big job."

She hears his grin through the phone and he tells her he'll be home the next day. "You feel up for some company?"

"If company brings me a present," she teases and takes a sip of her coffee.

At once, her stomach rolls and lurches, her chest constricting with the feeling that she's about to be sick. "Um, Oliver, let me call you back, okay?" She flips her phone shut and takes deep breaths until the feeling thankfully passes. "Okay, no more take out from General Wong's," she mutters, and opens the fridge to get the Pepto Bismol.

It works…at first. But then Lois pops up at dinner time with Thai food and sulky Clark in tow and she actually welcomes the nausea. It gives her an excuse to escape the awkward, awkward meal. Clark gets her more medicine and a glass of ginger ale and leaves, telling her that he doesn't want to bother her while she's sick.

Lois decides to stay the night and help take care of her, and its nice being babied just a little-even though she does end up in front of the toilet for the rest of the night, throwing up what seems to be everything she's ever eaten in her life. Sitting beside her, Lois rubs her back through the night and places cool washcloths on her head between stomach heaves.

Sometime around noon that day, Oliver shows up, using his key and he finds them both sitting on the floor of the downstairs bathroom.

"Bad Chinese," she tells him.

Lois wrings the washcloth out over the sink, and hands Chloe a bottle of water that's been sitting on the counter since dawn. "She stopped about an hour ago, which is the longest she's gone all night, so I'm going to run home and grab a few things and then I'll be back."

"No, Lois, I think I'm okay now. I'm just gonna crash. Go home and get some sleep."

She tries to protest, but a yawn cuts her off and Oliver assures her that he'll take care of her, and that he'll call her if Chloe gets sick again. She leaves, and Oliver kneels down and scoops Chloe up off the bathroom floor.

"You heroes and your damsels in distress fetish," she quips, snuggling against his chest.

"What can I say," he replies, "saving the girl is just part of the job description."

He sets her on her bed, tucking the quilts around her. "And there's always a girl," she mumbles before drifting off.

Chloe feels she could sleep for about a week, as she has for a while now, but that sadly is not the case. About two hours after she lays down she jolts awake and runs into her bathroom to empty the contents of her stomach once more.

And she'd thought there wasn't anything left in it.

There's a note from Oliver on her nightstand when she comes out of the bathroom. Dinah's gotten into a sticky situation in Star City and he's gone to help out, but he'll be back as soon as he can, and yes, he's told Lois and she promises not to kill him for abandoning his girl in her time of need.

Chloe pretends her heart doesn't warm at Oliver referring to her as his girl.

Her equilibrium comes back with a couple bottles of water and without the feeling of dizziness, she figures that she can make it down to the corner pharmacy without incident.

She stands in the aisle, looking back and forth between bottles and boxes, trying to decipher what would be best for dehydration and food poisoning. She assumes its food poisoning. Maybe a virus, in which case she'll know for sure if Lois or Oliver get sick.

Cutting through the aisle that bookends with contraceptives at one end and diapers, formula, and baby food at the other (weird) she pulls out her wallet and the bracelet Moonday gave her in India falls out.

"Let's see, it's been about a month, and I am late," a girl behind her hisses in an agitated whisper a few feet from her. "Do you really think it's possible?"

The words slam in to Chloe's stomach, making her drop her purchases and she sinks to the floor, the feeling of her little lighthouse charm suddenly heavy on her wrist. She thinks of Oliver, of India, of that look in his eye when he hovered above her that made her insides heat up and her heart thump in her chest.

She thinks of his skin and his scent, their complete and total lack of a condom, and her own stupidity for letting it happen.

This is not possible.

…0…


	5. Chapter 5

…0…

_hello future, goodbye past_

_-Let There be Morning, The Perishers  
_

…0…

Fifteen minutes later Chloe is locked in her upstairs bathroom, clutching an egg timer in her hand like she's on trial and it holds the deciding vote in a capital murder wrap.

After a mini panic attack in the pharmacy (that nearly gave the 90 year old cashier a coronary) Chloe buys three pregnancy tests, wringing the gold bangle from Moonday in her hands, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot.

It's a fluke, it has to be.

There is no way she can be having a baby right now, not in the headspace she's in, and certainly not with Oliver.

She believes, truly, that Oliver wants to be a good man, but the fact remains that she's gone into whatever is brewing between them based more on her physical pull towards him than anything else. It's hard to forget all the anger that has passed between them, the distrust, and yes, the resentment.

Chloe was willing to try with Oliver, to try and see it, maybe, she could find that elusive happy ending with him if possible, but now? Now there's more at stake.

Hypothetically.

Watching the dial tick its way down to zero, Chloe runs the possibilities around in her head of a pregnancy.

Of a _baby_.

Hard to imagine manning her Watchtower station with a crying infant in the next room.

What will she say, once she starts to show, how would she explain? Somehow, she doubts "Oh, I had a brief, spontaneous fling with my famous billionaire boss less than a year after my husband's death" was going to fly.

Not to mention that no one even knows about her and Oliver besides Lois.

God, the press will go insane. Just being seen with Oliver is enough to get her pap-snapped all over Metropolis, but the news of an impending Queen heir will send that into hyper drive.

And Chloe will be branded a manipulative gold digger, out to score a rich husband with a convenient pregnancy.

Perfect.

Willing herself to calm down, Chloe checks the timer, convinced it's moving backwards. Getting all worked up about public speculation on a situation that doesn't even exist yet is pointless.

The timer dings.

Heart in her throat, she flips the three little white sticks over and then she knows.

There is no hypothetical anymore. There is a plus sign, two pink lines, and a digital 'yes' in a grainy gray oval, all very real.

And she has suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

…0…

Lois comes over a few hours later, Blockbuster cases in hand, to check on her.

As much as Chloe loves her cousin she is really not in the mood for yet another night packed with female bonding and chick flicks.

But she doesn't have the heart to tell her.

Anything.

She wants to. Everything in Chloe's brain and heart is screaming at her to be honest with Lois because Chloe knows that the one person in the world that she can always, always trust no, matter what, is Lois.

But the words won't come and dropping a casual 'I'm pregnant' into a conversation about the length of Johnny Depp's sideburns is probably not the best idea anyway.

Instead, she fakes falling asleep halfway into movie number two and Lois quietly leaves.

Try as she might, Chloe can't bring herself to feel guilty.

…0…

As feared, the all encompassing nausea hits Chloe at five am, about an hour and a half after she finally falls asleep, and she races to the bathroom.

It's not as bad as the day before. Today, she only gets sick three times before she makes her way to the coffee pot.

And then she remembers that caffeine is on the list of pregnant woman no-no's. Something she picked up during her brief tenure at the Planet.

As if swelling and vomiting for nine months isn't enough, coffee falling into the category of verboten is just icing on the cake.

A few weeks after blowing back into town Oliver had insisted on hiring Chloe an assistant at Isis; someone to answer phones and man the paperwork to lighten her load.

She expects it has more to do with her second job though.

Still, it is convenient to have somebody to call when she decides that she just can't go into work and have her cancel all of Chloe's meetings for her. Just one less thing that she's going to have to deal with. A fear that she could just slip and reveal her…situation to anyone she has a random conversation with just won't seem to fade so really, staying home is the best idea.

Having Oliver find out from somebody else would just make things worse.

Lois too for that matter.

Hanging up, Chloe trudges back, ready to fall back into bed.

No such luck.

One night when Lois was still determined to keep her mind off Oliver she swiped Chloe's phone and programmed a special ringtone for him. Much to Chloe's mortification, the first time he called her after that was when she was in line to pick up her dry cleaning and heard the opening lines of 'I'm Too Sexy' blaring from her purse.

At least Oliver found it funny.

The lyrics reach her ears and Chloe stares down at her phone on the nightstand like she would a cobra preparing to strike. That option is preferable to talking to Oliver right now.

Yesterday, the only thing Chloe wanted was to see Oliver. Now the thought of merely talking to him makes her want to hide under the covers for the rest of her life.

But the song is really starting to get on her nerves.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to answer." She can hear the cheer in Oliver's tone, can see his smile in her mind, and her heart thumps in her chest.

"Sorry." Chloe sits on the edge of her bed, a cold sweat breaking out over her skin. "I'm still not feeling a hundred percent today."

"Well, I'm going to be in Metropolis within the hour so you are going to be properly looked after until that Chinese is completely out of your system."

Without even really thinking about it, she blurts out the first thing she can think of. "It's a virus. I don't want you to get it so how about I come see you tomorrow when I'm no longer contagious?"

There's just too big a risk that she'll break down crying if she sees him right now.

"What about Lois?"

He sounds dubious and she tries not to panic.

"Like a virus could break through Lois's iron stomach."

Oliver chuckles. "Good point." After a few seconds he adds, in a soft voice that would make her want him here other under circumstances, "I've missed you." Her stomach somersaults. "I'm sorry I had to leave yesterday, but Dinah-"

"I get it," Chloe says. "Don't worry, Oliver. Just a few days and some rest and I'll be back in fighting form."

"Is your computer picking quarrels with you again?" he teases.

Like a wave about to knock her over, Chloe feels her throat tightening and a burn rises up behind her irises and she knows she's about to cry. No, scratch that. She's about to _sob_ and there's no way to prevent it. "Um, Oliver," she chokes out. "I have to go." Flipping the phone shut, Chloe covers her mouth just as the tears erupt, and her body shakes violently.

The knowledge that, if she'd wanted to, Chloe could have given Oliver news that would alter his entire life forever just now slams into her, and the sobs just won't stop coming.

She couldn't do that to him. Not over the phone, and not when her sleep deprived brain could barely function enough to process the situation herself.

Her brain is buzzing, whirring, churning, so much that Chloe doubts sleep is ever going to be possible for her again, but she lays back and feels her heavy eyelids slipping shut. The last thing Chloe sees in her head before the dark overtakes her is an image of Oliver's face when he smiled at her across an Indian bonfire.

…0…

A loud, sharp, _thwack_ sound stirs Chloe from her sleep and she turns her head towards her nightstand to see her clock glowing 4 am in bright red letters.

She shakes her head to stir the cobwebs. There's no way she's slept for close to 23 hours. She'd been tired, but not that tired. At least she hadn't thought so.

Then the noise that woke her repeated, followed by rustling.

If she were anybody else, Chloe would think that there were robbers in her house. Or really big rats.

But in Chloe's life the noises could only mean one thing.

The guys are back. And they're hungry.

Shrugging into her bathrobe and her fuzzy slippers, she trudges downstairs, greeted by exactly the scene she was expecting.

Bart, Victor, and AC are arranged around her kitchen table, digging in to the contents of her cupboards as if they face a looming execution. At least they're trying to be quiet.

They're sweet that way.

When Chloe flicks on the light, they all jump and she can't help but laugh at their shocked, guilty expressions, partially covered in food.

"You guys know I have napkins, right?"

Victor and AC wipe at their faces. Bart flashes her a huge grin before digging back into his food.

"Sorry we woke you," AC says. "We tried to be quiet."

"And then Bart knocked over the chair," Victor chimes in.

Bart shakes his head, frowning. "Why do I always get the blame?"

With a chuckle, Chloe patters over the fridge and takes out the eggs. All of their digging in pertains to food that she assumes was the easiest, and by extension the quietest, so the table is so covered with bags of chips and packages of cookies and ice cream cartons that the wood top isn't even visible.

After saving the world they deserve a little more than eating like a frat boy.

"I needed to get up anyway," she says. "I went to bed early so I'm not even that tired."

Oddly enough, it's true.

And even odder, she's famished.

"You guys want omelets, or scrambled?"

Before she can blink, Bart is seated on the stool in front of the stove, smiling at her with adoration in his big puppy eyes.

Cautiously, AC approaches her. "Chlo, you really don't have to cook for us. Oliver told us you were sick and-"

"I'm fine," she insists. "But if you guys don't want any breakfast…" she lets the words trail off, and makes a show of turning the burner off. All three of them shout 'No' before her fingers even land all the way on the dial. Grinning, she instructs them all to get whatever ingredients they'd like in their omelets and she goes about the business of making four very large omelets and a pile of scrambled eggs for Bart.

For the first time Chloe understands Bart inclination to eat so much. She wants nothing more than to devour everything in sight.

Worse-they notice.

"Hungry, Chlo?" Bart quips when she grabs her fourth piece of toast and slathers a huge dollop of grape jelly on it.

If this keeps up, she won't be able to keep this whole thing secret for very long.

"I've done nothing but throw up for two days," she explains, knowing sympathy goes very far with these guys. "I'm starving."

They all laugh. Disaster averted.

This time.

…0…

It's been a while since Chloe's gone into Isis on a Saturday. Since before Oliver and the guys came back to Metropolis after Jimmy's funeral. But given that she's missed the last two days, she decides to go in anyway.

It isn't as if there's anything else to do at 6 in the morning and all three of her houseguests have fallen asleep in her living room.

She pulls up in front of the building and instantly all the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The front door has been jimmied and a sliver of light falls across the sidewalk in the predawn darkness.

Given the company she keeps, anyone or any_thing_, could be in there.

Perpetual time zone crossing aside, Oliver is an early riser by nature and when Chloe steps out of the elevator into his living room, he's already up, doing a handstand in the middle of the room.

"Not what I was expecting," she says.

Oliver puts his feet on the floor, and stands up, then turns to give her a huge grin. "I could say the same thing." He grabs a tee shirt off the chair beside him and tugs it over his head. "When you said you'd come by today, I didn't think you meant before the sun was all the way up."

She tells him about the door to Isis and watches his face transform from good natured to stony. He picks up the phone before she's even finished and she watches his fingers move over the buttons and knows who he's going to call.

"Oliver, no. They're all asleep on my living room floor. Let them rest."

Instead he calls his security detail and has them check everything out.

"Since when do you work on Saturdays?" he asks, downing half a bottle of water in one gulp.

Answering with her two days absent, she asks is he would mind if she worked a little bit here while waiting for his team to report back.

"Only if you don't mind if I finish my work out."

Chloe grins, knowing just exactly what his work outs entail. "By all means."

Chuckling, Oliver pulls his shirt back off and continues his yoga.

Her attention to her work only lasts a total of a minute and Chloe finds her eyes following Oliver's form as he moves; following the tightening of his skin across the broadness of his shoulders, the flow of muscles and sinew, each angle and cleft of his body, against the backdrop of the rising sun across the horizon, highlighting the color of his skin, casting him in a silhouette of bone and muscle. Cheeks heating in embarrassment, Chloe can't seem to keep her eyes off the powerful lines of his body, the flow of muscles on his back, the tightness of his abs, his shoulders, his arms…

Heat rises up from her stomach and spreads over her cheeks, and she can feel that her face is blood red when Oliver's eyes meet hers in amusement.

"See something you like Sidekick?" Oliver saunters over to the chair she's sitting in and places his wide palms on either arm, lowering his face down to hers.

The heat that has started to gather in her stomach imploded the moment Oliver's lips pressed against hers and she's gone, drowning, his scent, his taste, the feel of his body, familiar and welcome, all around her as he pulled her to her feet, arms twining around her waist.

He's all restless energy and bunching muscles under her hands, pure strength and solid power against her.

A protector.

A hero.

One part of Chloe's brain is in riot, screaming at her that this is a bad idea, a betrayal, until she tells him the truth. But as his lips skim down over the skin of her throat, her thoughts scatter in panic at what could happen once he knows.

Oliver defines overprotective and knowledge of impending fatherhood will send him into overdrive.

There isn't time to dwell on it though too much though, as Oliver's hand slip up under the back of her shirt and his fingers brush over the bare skin of her stomach, she jumps, her entire body tensing up.

Alarm spreads over Oliver's face when he looks at her, concern falling like a mask over his familiar features. "Chloe, you okay?"

"Fine. Just…ticklish."

He looks at her, really looks at her, and she rails against the desire to fidget under his scrutiny. His eyes are a dark depth on his handsome face and they focus on her with an intensity that tightens her insides. Chloe feels her heart trip and quicken, her breath becoming shallow. _'Tell him'_ her brain screams at her, but instead she shakes her head and lets her eyes fall to the floor. "I just…I guess I'm a little more freaked out by the break-in than I realized."

Warm sympathy surrounds her as he pulls her into him, eyes locking onto hers and full of such warmth that Chloe can barely hold it together against the tide of shame and guilt threatening to knock her flat.

"I'm sorry," he tells her, even though he has nothing to be sorry for. "Want me to call and see how everything's going?"

She nods.

He hangs up and tells her that everything seems fine, that nothing was knocked over or appeared to be missing and then vetoes her idea of going over herself to make sure.

"Oliver, I need to make sure that nothing is missing. In case you forgot," she says, buttoning up her coat, "I used to do top secret work for a passel of super heroes in that office and there may be still something there we wouldn't want anyone to find."

It's true, but there's also this niggling feeling that there's a giraffe lurking in the shadows, just out of Oliver's sight, and then it begins to dance in tune with her erratic heart.

She needs time to think, to breathe, to sort through her muddled head and decide how she's going to tell Oliver she's pregnant. The tension that had built up between them has fallen away, and the latent physical pull that she's given into is clouding her judgment, making her wonder how a whole conversation is going to be possible.

Especially one they have to have.

And she dreads it.

Oliver encircles her wrist in his large fingers, pulling here away from the elevator. "Just wait. Let me take a shower and I'll go with you."

It's actually a little adorable, the fact that he wants to take care of her. "Oliver, I'm a big girl, I'll be fine."

Doubt laces her words. Before yesterday she would have gone into her office as soon as she got there, despite the potential danger, thinking nothing of potentially landing herself in the hospital.

But now she has someone else's safety to think of.

"Chloe-"

"How about," she says, "I go check things out, make sure nothing important is missing, and then I'll get the work I was going to do today and take it home."

"Promise?"

Her head bobs.

Oliver relinquishes his hold on her wrist, twisting his hand so he can twine her fingers through his. He rubs the pad of his thumb over her knuckles, and his eyes go soft as he looks down at her. "I mean it, Chloe. Be careful." Voice low, hoarse, mouth set, Oliver is the picture of worry and something resounds deep within Chloe's soul as it hits her, finally, that she's important to this man. More than she ever thought.

"I promise," she whispers.

He pulls her in for just a moment, drops a small kiss to her temple. "I'm just trying to save the girl," he quips, voice forcibly light.

Chloe grins at him through the wrought iron of the elevator grate. "There's always a girl."

As he slips from her view, her hand finds its way to her stomach and she knows, like one knows that the sun will rise in the morning, that she's just backed herself into a corner.

…0…

_**A/N: Yeah, no Oliver perspective this time. It just seemed better to focus solely on Chloe.**_


	6. Chapter 6

Some slight Season 9 spoilers in this chapter. Nothing Earth shattering.

…0…

_Then when desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin, and sin when full _

_grown, brings forth death. _

_- James 1:15._

…0…

Her office is eerily quiet. Eerie because Chloe knows Oliver and no doubt there is security lurking nearby, watching her. But they're paid to be discreet so she walks in and locks the door behind her. She meant it when she said she was just going to get her files and go home.

And no doubt the guys would be awake and watching over her, per orders from their leader.

The hairs on the back of Chloe's neck stand up and a cold chill shivers up her spine when she hears a soft, almost inaudible tick from outside the main Isis doors. In an amateurish move, she forgot her taser when she switched purses so the only thing she has that even remotely resembles a weapon is the heavy porcelain vase sitting on the shelf.

She only hopes Lana forgives her for breaking it.

Slowly, and painfully aware of the sound of her heels, Chloe creeps towards the door, hoping to see some sort of shadow or form through the frosted glass. She sees nothing, nothing of alarm at any rate, but she is so focused that when her phone starts to ring in her purse she screams and drops the vase on the floor, the pieces flying in all directions.

"Damn it," she mutters and grabs her bag to dig her phone out from the bottom. Brow furrowing, she flips it open. "Clark?"

"Chloe, hey," he says, and he sounds like their relationship hasn't been so unbearably, awkwardly strained since he came back to town. "Is Lois with you?"

"Clark, its 7 in the morning, why would Lois be with me?"

She hears the muffled bustling sounds of the Daily Planet in the background before he goes on. "We were supposed to have breakfast this morning to prepare for the mayor's press conference this morning, but she never showed up."

"Did you go by her apartment?"

"I'm there now," he says. "Her bed hasn't been slept in."

Chloe chuckles, despite herself. "I can't believe you broke into Lois's apartment. I hope she never finds out." She's about to warn him away from the underwear drawer when he starts talking again.

"She left her planner; she had plans last night with Mason Roberts."

Her brow furrowing, Chloe momentarily forgets about the weird vibe still lingering in her office. "Tess Mercer's new boy toy? I don't think he's Lois's type, Clark."

In typical Clark fashion, he informs her that he's going to look around Lois's and asks her to look into Mason's background and then hangs up on her.

"Nice talking to you too, Clark," she mutters, powering up her computer. No sense waiting until she gets home and Clark's going to be spinning until he knows Lois is safe. She hasn't met Mason yet herself, but from what she's heard he seems like the type of guy Lois would never go near; all smooth smiles and easy charm, but lacking in any actual depth.

"Sort of like Oliver when he turns on that whole playboy act, but without the likeability that make him interesting and tolerable." That was how Lois had painted him over cocktails a few weeks earlier. It was hard to imagine that a guy like that would hurt Lois.

About as hard to imagine as a billionaire spending his nights beating up on criminals, or the most average guy to ever walk the halls of Smallville High picking up a tractor like it was a feather-things Chloe has seen with her own eyes.

The worry in Clark's voice echoes in Chloe's head as she studies the history of a man who seems to have appeared out of thin air. Before the initial shots of him at Tess's elbow started popping up in the papers, there's nothing on Mason Roberts. Nothing.

The chill that had begun to warm shivers its way back up Chloe's spine, making goosebumps trail the length of her arms. People, especially the kind of people who align themselves with someone like Tess Mercer, don't just appear out of thin air.

Examining the best photo she can find of him, Chloe works her lower lip between her teeth, the wheels in her head turning.

Something about his eyes…

Dread settles itself into Chloe's stomach. She knows those eyes. Before she can convince herself that the very idea is crazy, before she can talk herself out of it, she opens the file marked 'Utilities' and scrolls down through the assortment of documents and photos that she wouldn't want anyone else to see. Clicking the JPEG file she was looking for, Chloe sucks in a ragged breath as Davis Bloome's face appears before her.

Chloe clicks on the icon, and the two images come up side by side before her and there they are; the same deep set, dark, dark eyes on two different faces.

"Oh my God."

The dull, mocking sound of clapping comes from behind her and Chloe whirls to see the very man she's investigating standing behind her, cold smile on his face.

"I heard you were clever, Miss Sullivan, but I have to admit that even I'm impressed," he says.

Of all the times to be away from her desk and the kryptonite in the top drawer. The noises from before resound in her memory and she knows,_ knows_, it was him.

"Zod," she breathes, entire body clenching. Instinctively, her hand falls to her abdomen, desperate to protect the tiny life inside of her. She doesn't even care why he's here, what he's after. All that matters is under her palm.

Head tilting, he walks toward her, circling her form like a predator preparing to strike. "Smart girl."

"Where's Lois?" she asks.

He makes a soft tut-tut noise before speaking. "Miss Lane is perfectly fine and should be waking up any time now."

"What did you do to her?"

"Nothing," he assures her and his face drops uncomfortably close to her ear. "I merely made sure that she won't be bothering to weasel herself into a story on Tess Mercer through me again. No physical harm came to her, nor will it if she behaves."

He moves away, yet she still feels the icy air of him all around her. She fights the restrained shudder coursing through her body.

"Just so you know, Miss Sullivan," he throws over his shoulder on his way out of the office, "that extends beyond Miss Lane."

All the air leaves Chloe's body in one long rush. Her hands fall to the table and she gasps in air. Once again, a hand goes to her stomach, rubbing over the still flat field of her sweater to remind herself that nothing has happened to the baby, trying to calm her buzzing nerve endings. The baby is fine, she is fine.

Only she's not, not on the inside anyway. Zod-the actual Zod himself-is here on Earth, in Metropolis.

Nothing is fine.

…0…

Fighting off an urge to throw up that has nothing to do with pregnancy, Chloe fixes her eyes on the top of Oliver's elevator as if she's attempting to propel it forward by will of sheer brain power alone.

As soon as she regains control of herself enough to drive, Chloe leaves Isis and comes directly back to the loft.

She's scared out of her mind, petrified, near hysterical. Zod was out there roaming about the city and there isn't anything she could do about it. She doesn't even have any proof. Above all else, she craves the simple comfort of having Oliver wrap her up in his strong arms and telling her that it would all be okay. At that thought the tears begin to clog her throat and she hits the up button again, wanting to get to the safe sanctuary of the loft as soon as possible.

Until now, Chloe hasn't fully accepted just how much she's come to depend on Oliver.

And she's certainly never noticed how long this elevator took.

Oliver's not in the main room when the door finally, finally, opens, but in the midst of her increasing panic, she hears a voice in the background, growing louder. She follows it, and halfway down the hall to Oliver's bedroom she pauses, taking in the fact that Oliver is flat out screaming his head off at someone.

"I don't care what it takes, just do it."

Chloe freezes. She has seen Oliver in a dozen different situations, has seen him laughing, yelling, fighting for his life, she knows what he looks like when he's facing certain doom, when he's worried about the people he cares about, when he's hell bent on revenge. Chloe knows the soft, tender side of Oliver Queen, and the hard, ruthlessness of the Green Arrow.

But something in his voice now stops her in her tracks.

"If it is Lex," he says and Chloe is afraid her heart has just stopped, "I want absolute proof. No second guessing. I intend to finish this once and for all-whatever it takes."

Breath stuttering in her chest, Chloe backs slowly in the opposite direction. As much as she wanted Oliver before, she wants out of there just as much now. She cannot handle this right now.

No doubt the old lady that Chloe nearly bowls over on her way out of the building thinks she's insane, tearing out of there like a mad woman, but she can't think, can't breath. Sinking down against the cold concrete of the building, Chloe puts her head between her knees and struggles to pull much needed oxygen into her burning lungs.

Two days ago, Chloe woke up and her worst problem was a case of food poisoning. And now…now she's more or less had her life threatened by an alien super villain and found out that the father of her undisclosed child is intent on cold blooded murder-of a man he thought he'd already killed.

If she doesn't wind up in the looney bin today, she never will.

…0…

It takes half an hour for Chloe to reach the front of the line at Metropolis National Bank, and another fifteen after that to assure the teller that, yes, she's sure she wants to empty her entire account and close it out.

"Miss Sullivan, we'd be happy to let you speak to a manager in hopes of settling the matter to your satisfaction. I'm sure there's something we can do to make you happier here."

"Yes, get the manager. Now." She knows she's bordering on the edge of bitchy here, but she doesn't have time for this. The teller scurries away and she takes the time to breathe deeply and collect herself.

An old copy of the Planet is behind the computer under a stack of folders and forms, folded over to the society pages, peeking out at from the bottom. Chloe snatches the paper and holds it against her chest, thrumming her fingers on the top of the counter, a little less frazzled now that she has an angle to work.

"Miss Sullivan." She looks up and sees a pompous looking man with salt and pepper hair and a perfectly tailored suit coming toward her. Giving her that fake 'I'm so important' smile that only people like him can pull off, he clasps his hands together and ushers her away from the line she's holding up. "I was so sorry to hear that you're considering ending your business with us. Is there anything we can do to change your mind?"

She plasters on a fake smile of her own. "You know, I'm fairly certain that Oliver Queen is on the board of this bank, am I right?" Unfolding and adjusting the paper so the photo is showing, she waits for the man to respond before continuing. "I thought so. You see, he happens to be a very good friend of mine and I'd hate to have to tell him that my wishes were being ignored." Chloe watches his eyes fall on the picture of her Oliver just before Thanksgiving having lunch downtown and he gulps. "I want to close my account. Now."

Oliver pays well and Chloe walks out of the bank with close to sixty thousand dollars in cash, less what she had them keep to pay off the balance on her credit cards.

If she's going to do this, there can't be a paper trail.

…0…

The knock on her door distracts Chloe from her packing and she sets down the small stack of photos on the coffee table and answers.

"Got here as fast as I could." Charlie is one of her patients at Isis, a technopath who used to sell his services to the highest bidder until he ended up on the wrong side of the Russian mafia in Edge City and reach out for help. Pulling out his laptop, he sits on her couch and gives her a grave look. "You sure about this?"

"No," she tells him, honesty making her voice quiver. "But I have no choice. I need to disappear."

"Okay."

Chloe stuffs the photos in her purse and sits beside him so she can see exactly what he's doing. The confidential page for information input at the local branch of the Kansas Social Security Office.

"You're positive this can't be traced?" Chloe asks, knowing full well that Victor is as tech savvy as she is and could link the information back to Charlie easily if he doesn't cover his tracks.

Charlie grins at her. "See this little baby right here?" He points to a flash drive sticking out of the side of his computer. She nods. "Its like a cloaking device. I go in, do what I need to do, and then it leaves behind a mock IP that leads to a dead end. By the time they realize someone's been in the system, all trace of what I've done has been virtually erased."

She's impressed. "I could have used one of those," she mutters and watches the tiny light on the stick flash and then he lays his hand on the screen. As many times as Chloe has seen what Charlie can do, it still amazes her.

Between his fingers, she can see glimpses of her record come up and then dissolve, followed by other official documents both local and national; school transcripts, medical records, DDS file, all evaporating into the cyber ether.

"There," he announces. "Chloe Anne Sullivan, born in Granville, Kansas to Gabe and Moira Sullivan no longer exists."

There are still hard copies of all these files out there, but with no other records to compare them against, they're worthless.

And it's a lot to process. Her entire past, her identity, has just been deleted.

"Now," Charlie says, "we turn you into someone else. Anything specific you need to be put in; broken bones, weird medical issues?" She tells him what he needs to know and then he closes his computer, telling her she'll need to file for duplicate copies of her identification, says to claim they were lost in the move. Finally, he looks into her face, traces of hesitancy still lingering on his friendly features. "I owe you my life, Chloe, and I'm happy to help you any way I can, but if someone manages to link this back to me-"

She places a hand on his arm, squeezing reassuringly. "Its okay, Charlie. I get it."

"This basically erases the life you had. You're never going to be Chloe Sullivan again." She swallows hard as she listens. "Is whatever you're running from really worth all this? Cause I can put it all back, just say the word."

Her hand is halfway to her stomach again, getting to be a habit already, she stops herself and nods. Charlie has a family of his own to take care of; she can't involve him any more by showing her hand now.

"Okay. We're all good to go, just need a name."

A beat. "Barbara Gordon." Taking a deep breath, she hugs one of the throw pillows she bought when she had first moved into the Talon with Lois after Met U closed, willing the tears building up behind her irises to stem. "I'm not Chloe Sullivan anymore, I'm Barbara Gordon."

…0…

_**A/N: Again, no Ollie perspective, but he'll be back soon. Mason hasn't officially been given a last name yet, Roberts was the first one to come to mind so I went with it. **_


	7. Chapter 7

…0…

_without me, his world will go on turning_

_- On My Own, Les Misérables _

…0…

Bag in hand, Oliver double checks to make sure he has his passport. Officially, he's going to taking a tour of possible new development sites, and everything has to look like it's on the up and up.

Unofficially…he's going to make sure Lex Luthor never hurts anyone ever again.

His jet is gassed up and ready at Metropolis International, there's a car waiting for him downstairs. All he has left to do before take off was to stop and check on Chloe before he left. The head of his security team had assured him that nothing was wrong at Isis and that it was probably just a bunch of kids pulling a prank or a homeless guy looking for somewhere warm to sleep.

He hits the button for the elevator, and his phone begins to ring just as the grate slides open. The ID flashed 'AC' across the front screen. He flips it open; he needs to tell the guys that he's going to be going out of the country anyway. "Hey, what's up?"

"Oliver, is Chloe with you?"

He frowns. Chloe had told him she was going to go home and that was two hours ago. "No. Isn't she there?"

"Dude, would I be calling if she were here?" AC snaps, then apologizes.

Oliver asks what's going on, standing beside his limo and signaling to the driver that he'll be a minute.

AC explains that after a quick nap, he and the guys went out to replace the groceries they'd eaten and to pick up a few things and that when they'd gotten back to Chloe's her car had been in the driveway and her wallet was laying on the coffee table, but she wasn't there. Then there's was a muffled conversation on his end and he comes back on the line, voice grave. "Victor just called Clark to see if Chloe was with him. She's not, and Clark said Lois is missing too."

"I'm on my way."

…0…

Chloe steps out of the bathroom of the Topeka bus station feeling highly conspicuous. Thanks to years as a reporter, and her former roommates, she had plenty of disguises at her fingertips and she steps into the bathroom looking as she always has, but comes out a completely different person.

Lana and Lois had both left behind clothes at the Talon, and she had ended up taking them with her to her new place since Lana was gone and Lois had been missing. As she had been packing up to leave she remembered Mrs. Kent telling her one Christmas that she was easy to shop for since her style was so defined. Looking down at the clothes spread on her bed, she realized it was true. With that in mind, she ransacked the section of her closet where she'd hung up the other girls' clothes and grabbed a few things she knew would fit her.

Dressed in one of Lois's skirts, a little too long and falling to mid calf, and a wide necked black shirt of Lana's, Chloe stops in front of a ticket window just to double check that her wig is on straight. Seeing herself as a redhead is a shock, and she brushes the bangs out of her face, looking over the frames of the small wired rimmed glasses she's wearing and how they highlight the angles of her face.

She doesn't even look like herself anymore, and she supposes that's the point, but maybe she should have gone a little more subdued. Noticing more than one person looking her way as she walks out onto the street, Chloe keeps her head up and her back straight despite the urge to hunch her shoulders. That would only serve to make her appear as if she were hiding something.

Outside the bus station Chloe catches a cab and instructs the driver to take her to the train station. In the rearview mirror Chloe sees him make a face. No doubt he wonders why she wants to go to the train station when a bus could take her anywhere she wants to go. She says nothing and sits back against the soft worn seats.

…0…

Oliver bursts into Chloe's living room, seeing everyone, even Clark, assembled on the couch and chairs with serious looks on their faces.

"What do we know?"

Looking at the others first, Victor stands up and rubs his hands against his jeans. "We saw Chloe this morning, we all fell asleep, and when we woke up she wasn't here and we went out. Lois was supposed to meet Clark this morning, but didn't show. He called Chloe and asked her to look into the guy she had plans with last night. Then when we got back here, Chloe's car is here but she's not." He picks what Oliver recognizes as Chloe's wallet off the coffee table and hands it to Oliver.

He looks inside it. "ID, credit cards, bank card. No cash," Oliver surmises.

Clark sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Chloe always carries cash in case of an emergency."

They all know this.

"Hey guys," Bart pipes up. "What happened to the picture that used to be on the shelf?"

Oliver turns, eyes scanning the shelf before he lands on the picture frame that sits on top, Chloe and Jimmy's wedding day, now empty. He looks down, noting that two thick photo albums on the shelf below are also gone, as is the picture of Chloe with her parents as a baby, and the one with Lois on her 21st birthday. "All of her pictures…they're gone."

They decide to look and see if anything else is missing and come up with nothing. Nothing they would notice at any rate. Even her laptop is still sitting exactly where Chloe last used it.

Clark's phone rings, and its Lois, saying she woke up in her car in the parking lot of the Ace of Clubs with a splitting headache and that Mason had never shown up.

"Lois," Clark interjects, "have you talked to Chloe today?" He looks at Oliver and shakes his head. Heavy feeling settling in his gut, Oliver asks Clark to tell Lois to get to Chloe's as soon as she can.

Finding on signs of a struggle, they all, Oliver most especially, are worked into a frenzy by the time Lois walks in fifteen minutes later.

"What's going on, where's Chloe?" she demands, hands on hips, hazel eyes dark and menacing.

"We don't know," Oliver says. "Her photos are gone, and her car is still here."

Lois's brow crinkles, confused. "Who would want to take Chloe's pictures? Some deranged evil scrapbooker?"

He tells her that the only thing they have so far. "Lois," he says, idea forming, "would you look around and see if anything else is gone."

"You guys not big on the whole suspiciously absent?" she asks. "Fine."

Stepping closer to her, they all keep their gazes trained on Lois as she studies the living room. Suddenly her eyes widen and she points at the entertainment unit. "Her grandmother's clock. Uncle Gabe gave it to Chloe when he moved, it's gone."

The scenario is getting worse. All Oliver can think is that the only person who could possibly want a clock that belonged to Chloe's grandmother, and photos of Chloe's friends and family, is Chloe.

"I'm going to check her bedroom," Lois announces and takes off up the stairs. Clark shoots Oliver a look and they both follow her.

She's in the closet when they get there, rifling through the clothes and opening up shoe boxes. Coming back out, Lois appears as if some hard truth has just socked her in the face. "Some of her clothes are gone, purses, some shoes. Not a lot, but most of her winter stuff." Heart in his throat, Oliver watches Lois's eyes well up with tears. "Her suitcase is gone too."

The jewelry box that sits on the dresser is open. Stepping over to it, Clark begins to riffle through the tangle of chains and beads. "Her wedding rings aren't here," he announces.

Oliver's head shoots up. His eyes go to Lois and she blanches, pushes Clark out of the way and dumps the contents of Chloe's jewelry box onto the top of her dresser. "He's right." She flicks her gaze up to each of them in turn. "There's some other stuff missing too; that plastic ring Jimmy proposed with, her mother's locket, some of her favorite necklaces, a broach our great aunt Gladys left her when she died…guys," a tear slips freely down Lois's cheek, "all this stuff…this is what Chloe would want with her no matter what. The rest of this," she lifts a hand of assorted bracelets, earrings, things that Oliver has seen her wear, "she wouldn't care about. And some of its real."

Real jewelry left behind, like the pearls and a diamond pendant, things worth real value, add up into a thought that leaves Oliver's blood cold.

Just like the pictures and the clock, the jewelry that's missing are things that no one but Chloe would want-especially a plastic ring from a gumball machine. After a few minutes, Lois collects herself enough to continue looking around and notes that an old teddy bear Chloe loved and a music box she kept on her nightstand are gone as well, as is her makeup and her toothbrush.

The three of them walk back downstairs, and the other guys all stand when they see the heavy hearted looks on the faces of the three people that know Chloe the best.

"What is it?" Bart demands, all traces of his usual cheerful disposition gone. "What'd you guys find?"

Clark looks at Oliver, at Lois, then turns to them. "It looks like Chloe left...voluntarily."

The words pierce through Oliver like hot lead. He turns away from them, facing the stained glass window that Chloe had loved, head resting against the cool colored glass. He hears disbelief in the voices of all three men when Lois tells that what she discovered upstairs and they ask if they're sure.

"Why would Chloe just up and leave?" Bart whispers, the only one of them who dares to voice what must be running through the reset of their minds. It hasn't stopped wondering that himself sine they came back downstairs.

Fists clenching, Oliver strikes out, with no forethought, and puts his fist through the glass.

…0…

The train shudders to a slow stop, the squeal of the breaks rousing Chloe from sleep. Blinking to clear the fog from her brain, she runs a finger through her wig (not too hard) and puts her glasses back on. When the train stops, she stands, grabbing her bags from the overhead compartment, and stretches out her limbs, stiff from a day and a half on the train from Topeka north.

So far, she's not queasy, but her stomach gurgles, whether from morning sickness that's still forthcoming but not quite here yet, or from the stress of the trip, she's not sure but what she does know is that she's craving something hot.

And it's easy to deduce where that urge came from.

The further north the train got from Kansas the colder the compartment seemed to get, at least to Chloe, a cold that comes from the inside like when you get up extremely early.

Outside the entrance is a coffee cart, so while waiting for a cab to come along Chloe buys an extra large hot chocolate. Then a cab does come along and she gives the address she has written down in her address book, hoping that its still the right one.

The early evening traffic is heavy, and the few miles take twice as long as they should, giving Chloe plenty of time to contemplate the madly fluttering butterflies in her stomach. Outside the cab, the wind is howling with anger, rain tapping cold, cruel fingers across the windows, doing nothing to ease her nerves. The entire way to Gotham Chloe had tried to sleep, with no luck. Visions of Oliver's face kept floating in front of her eyes and then the guilt would well up. She'd imagined what he would look like, what he would say, finding out she was pregnant.

Wiping away an errant tear, Chloe sucks in a ragged breath and forces herself not to go there. Sentimentality won't do her any good now. That moment is not going to happen and the sooner she accepts that, the better.

When the cab stops, and the townhouse she remembers from foggy, distant childhood memories looms into view, yet another image of Oliver swims in her subconscious; angry, betrayed, voice low and wounded, asking her when she became one of the bad guys.

Then she reminds herself of the anger in his voice, the hate, when she realized that he was planning to hunt down another human being and kill him. Chloe has no love for Lex, but he doesn't deserve that.

She pays the driver and hoists her bags up, the butterflies transforming into eagles with eight foot wingspans. She knocks, bouncing on the balls of her feet, jittery and anxious, and waits for the door to open.

A guy, about 17 or 18 she surmises, opens and smiles and open friendly smile that warms her down to her toes. "Hi. Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Chloe nods, "is your dad home?"

…0…

Oliver stuffs the laptop into the case, zips it, and grabs a stack of folders from the top drawer. His hand screams in protest when rubs against the stiff leather of his briefcase. He stretches out his sore fingers, praying he doesn't pull a stitch. Even if he does it won't matter.

Cursing under his breath, Oliver double checks the message on his phone. The jet is still waiting on him, ready to go whenever he is.

It's been waiting for hours, he doesn't know why he'd expect anything else.

His phone beeps, and just as he suspected, its Victor calling in another progress report. Nothing has changed though. He won't be able to find her, Oliver knew that when Victor hacked into the Visa files and all record of Chloe Sullivan was gone, the number stamped on the card in her wallet reported never issued. The same happened with her other cards, her bank card, and even the main database at Smallville High has no trace of her.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that someone went to great lengths to erase all signs that Chloe ever existed and given the fact that the perpetrator is undetectable, he would lay odds that that person is Chloe herself.

He feels like an idiot for not seeing some sign this morning that she wasn't as fine as she'd said she was. Everything in him had said to go to the office with her to make sure that was alright but she insisted that she would be okay.

Did she know then, was the plan already in place? Had Chloe come into his loft already knowing that come sundown she would be gone?

Thinking back on her visit, he tries to pinpoint some moment, some telltale sign of what was coming. He remembers the playful nature that defined their phone calls while he was away, the heat that flared up in his veins when he'd noticed her eyes raking over his body…and she'd responded. And then it was as if a switch was flicked and her entire body went rigid. Out of nowhere. He recalls it perfectly, with all the pent up emotions of nearly a month away from her coursing through him, the shape of her body searing into his skin like a brand.

Perhaps she hadn't expected it. Maybe the thought of leaving was already there, in the back of her mind and the two of them falling back into old patterns wasn't something she'd been prepared for. But it wasn't merely his imagination that made him see the affection that glowed in her eyes whenever they landed on him in the recent months and it wasn't his imagination when he felt the change in her kiss, as sudden as a heartbeat.

While he wanted, needed, ached, to know why she just up and left without a word to anyone, Oliver knew that the methodical erasing of her entire life could only mean that there was serious thought put into it. Chloe was prone to occasional impulsive acts, but she wasn't a spontaneous person by nature. Whatever made her decide to leave must have been a big deal, enough so that she took the time to wipe her history clean, to make certain that she left no trail behind her.

Turning off the lights in the back rooms, he walks back into the loft, sending word that he'll be at the airport soon.

His feet land on the floor of his living room just as the elevator door slides open and Clark steps out. "We've been calling you for over an hour."

Clark brandishing accusations is nothing new, especially to Oliver, but this is one time he just can't bring himself to care.

Silently, he goes about gathering his things up, paying no heed to the other man and his steely gaze.

"Are you even listening to me?" Clark demands.

"Not really."

Clark goes quiet, and Oliver can all but hear him looking around the room and putting the pieces together.

Oliver wonders what's going to tip him off first; the suitcases by the elevator, or the fact that he's packing up all of his business documents. With Clark, it usually takes the blatantly obvious for him to catch on.

"Are you going somewhere?"

Right on cue.

"I'm going home, Clark," Oliver tells him. "I don't know when I'll be back."

He picks up the leather briefcase and walks to the elevator, ready to put Metropolis behind him. He watches the iron of the gate fold back in place, and turns back to face Clark before stepping in to the elevator, possibly for the last time. "Take care, Clark."

"What about Chloe?" Clark demands. "She's missing, Oliver, you-"

"She's not missing, she left." Clenching his jaw to stem the tide of anger he feels building, Oliver looks him in the eye and says, out loud, the truth that neither of them want to face, but know to be true. "Chloe left, Clark. Of her own free will apparently, and she made sure none of us could find her. There's nothing I can do here that I can't do from Star City."

"What about when she comes back?"

Choking on a bitter laugh, Oliver shakes his head. "Chloe deleted every trace of herself, Clark. She's not coming back."

A few beats pass while the two of them stand there, eyes locked in a stalemate, the silence simmering between them with accusations and blame. Finally, Clark nods his head, stepping forward. "You're leaving because you feel like Chloe's betrayed you somehow."

Oliver inhales a sharp breath. He tries in vain to keep his anger in check. There's no way he can win in a fight against Clark, he knows that. Not without the aide of Kryptonite.

"I saw her this morning," Oliver confesses, he feels like he has to, "and she didn't say a word."

And now Clark is in his face. "So you're just going to leave, too? Just like that, you're going to run away?"

Stepping back into the elevator, Oliver hits the button to begin his descent. His breath in tatters, he mutters, "And you won't see me for the dust."

…0…

Chloe waits anxiously, tapping her foot against the hardwood floor in her uncle's foyer. The guy who had opened the door, her cousin Tony, had been seven years old the last time she'd seen him so it was no surprise that he hadn't seem to recognize her.

She was wearing a wig after all.

He comes back in and hands her a bottle of water, swinging his hands at his sides before clasping them in front of him. "So…" He cleared his throat and offered her a seat. "You look kinda familiar."

She smiles, not able to help it. "We've met, but its been awhile."

He opens his mouth, about to say something else but the front door opens and two men walk through, stopping short at the sight of her.

"Chloe?"

A well of repressed emotion wells up behind her eyes, and the tears begin to fall as soon as he hugs her.

"Honey, you okay?" His voice, always so calm, is worried, but she can't seem to stop the tears. "Chloe?"

Finally, she's able to pull herself together and she wipes at her face under the prop glasses. "I don't know Uncle Jim, I really don't."

…0…


	8. Chapter 8

…0…

_we won't break, we won't die  
it's just a moment of change  
- all we are, one republic_

…0…

Chloe sits on the couch in her uncle's living room, rolling the bottle of water Tony had gotten her between her palms.

Tony, and the other person who has come in with her uncle; her cousin JJ (James Jr.) have been shooed away by their father when he noticed just how upset his niece was.

"I don't know where to start," she says. It had been difficult to look him in the eye while he had been getting the boys out of the room and shutting the door to the kitchen to give them some privacy. Now he sits across the coffee table from her in a cozy looking captain's chair, looking at her with so much sadness she expects his eyes to burn a hole through her. "It's…"

"A long, complicated story?" he asks, the slightest touch of humor in his voice.

"Something like that."

She watches as he takes off the small horn-rimmed glasses he wears and wipes them on the leg of his pants, checking them against the light before putting them back on. One of Chloe's first memories is of that exact action, back when her uncle's hair was more brown than gray, and he would spin her around on his shoulders to make her laugh.

There are few people that make her feel as safe and as loved as he does. That's why she's here.

"Short version?" she begins, "First off, I'm pregnant." His eyes widen, but he remains silent and she presses on. "You know that Jimmy died last year, so obviously he's not the father."

"That's none of my business," he injects quickly.

Chloe can't help but smile at that. Her heart melts a little as well. He's trying so hard to make this okay for her.

"He's…not someone I can be with right now…and he doesn't exactly know."

Eyebrows nearly meeting his hairline, he nods, albeit somewhat strained, but says nothing.

"He's not a bad guy," she says quickly, lest she give him the wrong impression. "He's actually a really good guy, but he…"

"He's not _the_ guy?"

Sniffles are threatening to start up and that is the last thing she needs.

Heart in her throat, Chloe rolls the bottle more, faster than before and the label tears at the edges. "I don't know honestly. He could have been…but things happened…" Now the tears escape, and her throat clogs up, leaving her unable to speak for several minutes. He reaches across the coffee table to take hold of her hand until she's collected herself enough to speak. "I just need some time to figure out what I'm going to do."

"That's easy," he says. "You're going to stay here." She begins to protest, so raises his hand to cut her off. "I won't take any arguments. You're family and that's the end of it."

She's too touched to speak at first. Of course the thought had lingered there in the back of her mind, but she hadn't built her plans on it.

Chloe learned a long time ago not to rely on safety nets.

"I don't know what to say."

He stands and pulls her against his side as she too rises to her feet. Smiling down at her, he squeezes her shoulder. "You can say yes."

"Thank you, Uncle Jim." He puts his hand on the doorknob that leads into the kitchen, but there's more to tell, and this is not going to be the easy part. "There's more." off his perplexed look, she does her best to attempt a wane smile. "You may want to sit down for this."

…0…

The fact that Chloe is going by a new name isn't so much what she thinks is going to be weird for her uncle and her cousin's, but the fact that the name she's chosen is her aunt's.

Her aunt Barbara died when Chloe was in middle school, when Tony was seven and JJ was four. And despite living in Gotham, she had always been Chloe's favorite aunt and they had talked all the time, she had called at least once a day for as long as Chloe could remember and had talked to her mother for hours, about everything under the sun as old friends were prone to do, having known each other since childhood, never separated until Chloe's mom, Moira, left for Met U and Barbara stayed in Gotham, eventually marrying Moira's older brother.

If he's rattled by her proclaiming that she's going to be using his late wife's name, he doesn't let on, but the boys both look a little wary.

"I know its odd," she tells them, "but I don't want anyone to find me." Still looking apprehensive, she goes on, wanting them to be okay with this. "I really loved your mom, but if this bothers you, I understand." Her uncle squeezes her hand, eyes getting a bit misty.

"It's cool," JJ says, grinning at her. He reminds her so much of Bart for a second, all open friendliness and puppy eyes, that her chest constricts tightly.

Tony gestures toward her hair with his fork, smiling. "And the hair?"

"What about my hair?"

Rolling his shoulders in a shrug, he says, "It's a wig, right?"

Chloe gapes momentarily, but clamps her mouth shut. "How'd you know?"

"You're not a redhead," JJ supplies. He takes a long sip of his water and passes her the container of spring rolls. Not long after she showed up, her uncle instructed the boys to order dinner. Chinese food and sports were a long standing Sunday tradition.

Chloe rolls her eyes, nodding. "Its temporary." Smirking, she directs her hand at his own hair. "At least now I fit in," she says, referring to the coppery color both he and Tony inherited from their mother.

…0…

Tony is a Freshman at Gotham University, so he takes her bags up to his old room and tells her that she can change anything she wants.

"Maybe just the car girls," she winks, and he blushes, averting his eyes from the posters lining his walls. He bids her goodnight and closes the door when he leaves her to get ready for bed.

Unzipping her bag, she digs around until she finds some pajamas and her slippers, then her toiletry bag. She changes and starts to leave the room for the bathroom so she can brush her teeth and wash two days worth of worry and travel from her face, but she stops, fingering the ends of her long wig. She'd prefer to take it off beforehand, her short hair being much easier maintenance wise, only the thought that she, and her uncle and cousins, should get accustomed to seeing her as she is now. It would be easier for everyone this way.

So that's what she does. She plans to change her hair soon anyway, for real, so she better start getting used to dealing with a long tumble of hair-something she's never had to do before.

JJ is in her room when she gets back, staggering under the weight of the large pile of clothes in his arms. "I knocked," he mutters from beneath the heap of fabric. "I'm just taking Tony's clothes up to the attic so you can put your stuff away."

Chloe's heart melts. "You don't have to do that."

"Yes I do, Tony lives out of his duffel bag still and he left behind more clothes than a girl. It would have taken you forever to get them all out."

Jim pops his head into the room, sweeping the room with trained investigator eyes. "Everything okay up here?" Deducing what JJ is doing, and that he's faltering under the weight, the corners of his lips twitch up. "Need some help, son?"

"Nah," JJ insists. "I got it." He staggers for a split second, just enough for a few shirts to fall onto the floor. Once he makes it out into the hallway, Chloe laughs, incredibly touched by his thoughtfulness, and amused by him, and when she hears the dull thump against the wall she only laughs harder.

"You guys are amazing," she whispers, hugging her uncle again. "I can't thank you enough for letting me stay."

Wrapping his arms around her, he chuckles against her hair. "No thanks required. You know I'd do anything for my favorite niece."

She scoffs, playfully. "I'm your only niece."

…0…

To her enormous surprise, Chloe falls asleep quickly and stays asleep through the night.

When she does wake up, its to the sound of a muffled bass line thrumming beneath her floor. Tossing her wig and her bathrobe on, she shuffles downstairs to the kitchen just in time to see her uncle and her cousin dashing around the room, gathering books and papers, stuffing food in their mouths along the way from paper plates and plastic cups scattered around the kitchen.

"Is this how you guys eat every morning?"

Like a buzzer called on a play, they both stop and face her.

Shrugging, JJ tells her it is, tossing a look at his dad.

"You want some breakfast?"

Chloe shakes her head. "I try not to eat until the vomiting stops." Its only been a few days, but it worked on the train to keep her sickness to a minimum.

JJ pulls the spoon of cereal away from his mouth and drops it back down into the bowl, grimacing.

"Sorry," Chloe laughs.

He heads out the door, throwing goodbyes over his shoulder. Jim turns to Chloe, handing her a cup of coffee. "Decaf."

She drinks it greedily, not even caring if it makes her sick. She's missed this taste.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good," she sit's the cup down to push stray locks of hair behind her ears. "I slept really well so that helped. Must have been the sound of the rain."

He chuckles. "You'll get a lot of that in Gotham." Draining his own coffee, he places the mug in the sink and shrugs into his jacket lying over the back of a chair. "I wish I could stay home with you today, but-"

"Its fine," she assures him with a wave of her hand. "Duty calls and I have a lot I need to get done today."

"Such as?"

"I need to open a bank account, see if I can get a lead on a job, and apartment-"

"No, no, you're going to be staying here." Mouth twisting, he gives her a very stern look-one she's sure terrifies Gotham's criminal element, but she's seen him dressed as the Easter Bunny.

Smiling, she watches him pat her hand, full of fatherly concern. "I love you guys for letting me stay here, especially with the situation being what it is, but you're not going to want a pregnant woman living here. The mood swings are going to start soon, and the weird cravings, and I can't have a newborn here crying all night when JJ has to get up and go to school the next day."

"Chloe, honey," he says softly. "I may not be 20 anymore, but I remember what its like to have a newborn in the house and you're going to need help."

She knows this, and knows that there's little chance she's going to he able to find the kind of help she needs without a job secured first. She has savings, and that helps, but money only goes so far.

"Tell you what," he says. "I have a friend over at the city library and she told me that they're looking for help over there. Why don't you come down and meet me for lunch and I'll take you over there to meet her."

"Really?" A bubble of relief bursts inside of her and she hugs him tightly, feeling the pull of home, of family, that she hasn't felt in a long time settling around her.

…0…

The wait at the bank takes even longer than it had in Metropolis, which surprises her. Even in a huge city like Metropolis the rain tends to cut the street traffic down. But dreary, wet weather is the norm here, so its just as bustling and jam packed as ever.

The teller she's dealing with raises an over arched brow when she discovers that Chloe wants to open an account and deposit thousands of dollars in cash. There is a huge dark side to Gotham though, which she's always known about, so the assumption that the money came from some nefarious act is highly possible. Chloe doesn't care though. She merely signs all the forms with her new name and the new Social Security Number Charlie got for her and her uncle's address and takes her own copies when she leaves.

Having taken so long to get just that errand out of the way, as Chloe walks down the street her stomach rumbles. She spots a little bookstore with a café attached out of the corner of her eye and crosses the street, heading straight for it.

The heavy, homey scent of fresh paper overlain by chocolate and espresso makes her mouth water. People are milling about the stacks, sipping from Styrofoam cups and sitting at the little wrought iron tables scattered about, turning pages and eating decadent looking deserts.

Heading straight for the counter in the café section, she waits impatiently in line, eyes raking over the menu. She should wait until she meets up with her uncle for lunch, but her stomach is beginning to growl loudly, garnering good humored looks from the people around her. Ordering a hot chocolate and a small package of mini biscotti cookies, Chloe decides to browse around before heading back out into the rain and all the way downtown.

In her hurry, Chloe almost knocks over a guy in her fervor to rush open the bag of cookies. "Sorry," she says, sheepishly, and offers an apologetic smile at the guy who chuckles and assures her its no problem.

The pregnancy and childcare section is easy to fine, tucked away in the roomy back corner with squishy chairs and stuffed animals breaking up the rows of books lining the dark mahogany shelves. There's no one else browsing here at the moment, so Chloe takes her time, flipping through various volumes and comparing the descriptions on the inner jackets.

An older lady in a dark green smock and liberally gray streaked dark hair rounds the corner, and asks her if she needs any help.

"Honestly," Chloe says, "yes. Please."

An indulgent smile creases her face, kind eyes sparkling. "First baby?"

Chloe nods, feeling her cheeks pink. The desperation in her voice must be obvious, and the feeling of being overwhelmed is probably evident on her face. The woman, who's name tag says 'Helen' walks her through the books on the shelves; which are the newest, the best sellers, which are best in her opinion and walks her up to the front counter to check her out personally.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asks. Chloe's eyes are drawn to a silver 'Nana' broach pinned below her name tag, dotted with different colored stones around the letters.

Feeling a little silly, but without a lot of options, Chloe bobs her head. "I just moved here…I don't suppose you could recommend a good doctor?"

Leaving with her books stuffed into her purse, Chloe walks in the diminishing rainfall to the police station, and dials the number Helen had given her for a well renowned obstetrician and secures an appointment for that Friday.

The Gotham Police Station looms up in front of the street, dark and imposing looking, and a few chills creep up Chloe's spine as she ascends the steep stairs and goes in the heavy wood doors.

"Can I help you?"

Chloe tells her that she's there to meet Commissioner Gordon and is asked to wait until his meeting is over.

She sits in one of the plastic chairs across from the reception desk. Blowing her bangs out of her face, she lets her head against the concrete wall behind her. It's only noon but she's exhausted already. Its amusing really, how quickly her little passenger is taking up all of her energy.

Demanding. Just like his father.

The thought, which comes out of nowhere, feels like ice water rushing over her skin. She had told herself that she wasn't going to think about Oliver anymore. At the very least, she was going to try.

And for a few hours she succeeded, letting herself forget that there is someone else out there that has stock in the baby sucking up all her energy, just as much as she has.

Letting herself believe that she could ever, ever forget that…she was wrong, leaving herself open for the random thought of Oliver to sweep the ground out from under her.

She hadn't predicted that, but she should have.

The door opens and she vaguely registers a male voice asking if her uncle's meeting is over. He too is directed to the row of chairs that Chloe's sitting in.

"Excuse me," the voice reaches her ear again, and it takes a good five seconds before it dawns on her that he's talking to her.

Turning her head, she meets the mischievous eyes of a guy about her age, grinning at her like he knows something she doesn't.

"Didn't you try to bowl me over in the bookstore a little while ago?"

Something in her head clicks, and she recognizes the face across from her as the one she had briefly seen in the bookstore. Face heating in embarrassment, Chloe apologizes, asking is he's okay.

"Nothing wounded that a smile from a pretty girl can't fix." Winking at her, he chuckles when another burst of heat floods her face.

Titling her head, Chloe joins in the laughter. "Does that line ever work?"

"Sometimes," he admits, broad smile on his face. He extends a hand toward her, which she shakes "Dick Grayson."

The name is familiar, somehow, but she can't pinpoint where she's heard it. "Barbara Gordon."

His eyes move over her face, taking stock of her she surmises. "You don't look like a Barbara."

"No?"

His head shakes, making his hair fall into his eyes. "Not at all." He speaks, flirtatiously, with all the easy charm of a man well versed of his own good looks. He sits there, blue eyes so bright they're almost turquoise, his jet black hair flopping over his forehead, and when he smiles at her dimples appear in each cheek.

"Funny," she says. "because you definitely look like a Dick."

A huge laugh bursts out of his throat, a full deep felt laugh, with nothing but sincerity behind it.

"Ouch." He places a hand over his heart. "You wound me. Again."

He smiles again, still blatantly flirting, and something about the boyish air around him makes her think of Bart for a second, so sweet and exasperating in his eagerness, and her mind flashes back to the first time he heaped his own particular brand of charm on her in the Talon so long ago.

"So…you're not under arrest or anything are you?"

"No," Chloe answers, a tiny bit perplexed. "I'm waiting on the commissioner."

"In some kind of trouble?"

Folding her arms over her chest, she narrows her eyes at him. "The only trouble around me right now is you."

His grin broadens, now impossibly wide. "How'd you know?"

Leaning closer, Chloe crooks a finger for him to lean in. "Sixth sense," she whispers.

Just then the door to her uncle's office opens, effectively ending the conversation.

She stands, as does Dick, moving with the grace of an athlete. He certainly has the build of one. Not a football or hockey player by any means, maybe a swimmer or a runner, active, but not a mass of muscles. He's a little closer than she thinks is appropriate for two people who have just met, but when she shifts her feet so that there are a few more inches between them he simply smirks at her, eyes alight with humor.

Jim and another man move out of the office, talking in low voices as they come closer to the area where Chloe and Dick are standing. Her uncle looks up and smiles at her, breaking away from the taller man to come stand in front of her. "Hi honey, did you have any trouble getting here?"

"Nope." Chloe feels eyes on her, from different directions, making her want to fidget but she resists the urge. "Ready for lunch?"

He nods, and his eyes move to the side. "Mr. Grayson."

"Commissioner."

The other man that had exited the office joins them, standing just outside the small circle the three of them have formed. Jim steps slightly back to allow him further in. "Bruce, I'd like you to meet my niece, Barbara."

"Niece?" Dick questions.

"Niece," she confirms, shaking the other man's hand. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," he states, flatly, politely. That's when she recognizes him, and feels foolish for not knowing that she's looking into a face she's seen staring at her from various tabloids and business pages for years. But all the magazines and newspapers in the world couldn't have prepared her for the sheer male beauty of Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy archetype, standing in front of her.

Now she knows why Dick's name was familiar. She's seen it linked with the other man's for years now.

Is it possible that her pregnancy is affecting her memory?

He turns his attention to Dick, asks what he's doing here, and Chloe takes a moment to observe him silently and decides that nature has been very kind to Bruce Wayne indeed, gracing him with penetrating coffee colored eyes set in a face constructed of a jaw line that looks like it was etched out of marble and cheekbones to die for, thick chestnut hair, and a strong, powerful build.

She feels sorry for the women of Gotham, having these two men in their midst, single, and very social. The reputations splashed on the cover of tabloids around the world can't be entirely fabricated. Working in journalism, she knows that much and there's the fact that she's seen dozens of photos of Bruce Wayne over the years, and never did the same woman appear in more than one shot.

A hand lands on her shoulder and Chloe jolts back to reality, flushing. Having just been caught staring at one of the most famous men in the world like a star struck teenager, she clears her throat and turns her attention to her uncle. "You ready to go?"

With a bemused expression, he says goodbye to the other two men and ushers her out. She casts a look back over her shoulder to find Dick watching her leave, winking when he meets her eye, and Bruce scrolling through his phone, oblivious to everything around him.

Looks as if those rumors about his lack of friendliness are true as well.

…0…

After lunch around the corner, Chloe walks nervously into the Gotham City Library behind her uncle, casting impressed glances around the vast building. The entirety of the public library in Metropolis could fit in just one wing of this place.

A row of pictures line the wall beside the entrance, honoring benefactors and donors. Unsurprisingly, Bruce Wayne's photo is up there, dark eyes unreadable behind the glass.

The head librarian, who introduces herself to Chloe as Mrs. Billings, looks the part of a librarian down to her sensible shoes. Her uncle gets paged, and he leaves the two of them to talk.

"So, Miss Gordon, your uncle tells me you're new to Gotham."

"Yes," she weaves through the tables and book carts, following her to an office back behind the main circulation counter. "I just moved here."

Mrs. Billings gestures gracefully to a chair across from a wide oak desk. Chloe sits, wanting to excuse the squeak her chair makes with her weight. Sliding a form and a pen across the desk, she tells Chloe to fill it out. "Jim happens to be an old friend of mine," she says. "We grew up on the same block, I knew his family very well."

Squirming like a kid just sent to the principle's office is probably not the best way to portray confidence to a potential employer, but that's exactly what Chloe wants to do right now. There's something about this woman's no nonsense demeanor that makes her feel like she's a little kid still and not 23 years old.

Then its like a streak of sunlight breaking through a cloud, Mrs. Billings smiles at her and pats her hand as she reaches out to take hold of the paper. "So if he vouches for you, that's good enough for me."

Feeling her shoulders unknotting and the tension in her muscles evaporating, Chloe returns Mrs. Billing's smile with one of her own.

"Just fill that out and we'll do a quick tour, okay?"

"Um," Chloe has a feeling she's about to sabotage herself here, but she doesn't really have a choice. "I don't suppose my Uncle Jim told you that I'm pregnant, did he?"

Mrs. Billing's blinks, and Chloe just knows that she's done it know.

But a laugh bubbles up and comes out of the older woman's throat. "No, and I'm not surprised knowing Jim. That's wonderful. When are you due?"

"September," Chloe says. "But I'm not sure what day yet. I have a doctor's appointment on Friday."

"That works out well. The girl who's leaving us, her last day is Friday so I need you Monday morning. Just enough time for me to get you the requisition forms for maternity leave." She leans closer, as if she's about to unveil a taboo secret. "I'm afraid I don't have any on me, being that no one under 40 has worked here in quite some time."

Chloe laughs, and begins to fill out her application.

…0…

By the time she's had her tour (that took over an hour) the rain is beginning to pour down again in sheets. The bus stop is just outside, but she's not anxious to enter a torrential downpour, especially not in twenty degree weather. So she waits just inside the main doors, and pulls one of her books out of her purse to kill time.

Footsteps coming down the steps to the door catch her attention and she turns to find none other than Dick Grayson behind her. She shoves the book back into her bag quickly.

His face breaks into a wide smile. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I work here."

Eyebrows rising, he tilts his head to the side and gives her a hard stare. "Since when?"

Chloe grins. "Since about an hour and a half ago."

Dick laughs, and opens the flap on the messenger bag slung over his shoulder. "I wondered, since I've never seen you here before."

"You here a lot?" The rain is still pouring, and not talking to him would be rude after all.

He holds up a book; Introduction to the Law, before putting it into the bag.

Law school. She hadn't seen that coming. "And there's no library at the university?"

He shrugs, good natured and polite, nice guy down to the bone. Growing up around Clark and Pete has given her the ability to spot one a mile away. "Its quieter here, less crowded." He fastens the latch on his bag and rakes his eyes over her, blatantly. "And much better scenery."

Okay. Nice guy, and a pathological flirt.

The rain slacks, offering her a reprieve. Chloe pulls out her umbrella and walks to the door, holding it open with her hip. "It was nice seeing you again."

"I think," he tells her, following her out the door, calling out to her as she walks toward the bus stop, "we're going to be seeing a lot of each other, Miss Gordon."

…0…


	9. Chapter 9

…0…

_Fate leads the willing, and drags along the reluctant._

_- Seneca_

…0…

Chloe's first three weeks in Gotham pass fairly smooth.

It takes less than a day for her to realize that she's going to be spending the bulk of her evenings alone. Her uncle is always on call, gone at the drop of a hat. Tony is around on Sundays, to watch the game and do laundry, usually back to the dorms by eight at the latest. JJ is home less than his father. He's involved in half a dozen after school activities and sports and he usually eats dinner out or at friends' houses.

So she spends the majority of her time at home with her pregnancy books, and then several websites on the family computer in the den, until her eyes are red and her vision is so blurry she can barely make it up to her room, now completely devoid of Tony's posters.

As a result, she's getting very nervous about the remainder of pregnancy, now eminently aware of things-terrifying things-she previously had no idea about.

The only thing about her day to day life that isn't going smoothly-besides her morning sickness and chronic fatigue, which are normal if unpleasant-is work.

She likes her job, like Mrs. Billings and the other full time librarians, who alternate shifts. She's even come to like the high school volunteers, now that they were over feeling like she was stealing their jobs.

The actual work itself is easy; she's in charge of the main desk, check outs and returns, and she handles a lot of the scheduling for the various reading and specialty rooms. No one will let her climb ladders or carry heavy stacks of books, Mrs. Billings apparently having told them she was pregnant before she even started, so she mostly just sits and answers the phone.

It would be a near perfect job if it weren't for one thing.

Dick.

As he'd said, he comes in quite frequently. Almost every day actually.

Her first day there she ran into him on her way out, and he'd been exactly like the first day she had met him; nice, flirty, a little eager.

Just assuming that was his personality, she thought nothing of it.

And then he started showing up earlier, and earlier, hanging around the front desk and trying to engage her in conversation.

He reminds her more and more of Bart by the day.

Today, she almost believed she was in the clear. Nancy, one of the other librarians who mostly handled the children's rooms and school crowds, was cooing over the sonogram picture that dropped out of Chloe's purse as she was gathering her things to leave for the evening.

She's been carrying it around with her since her first doctor's appointment, a terrifying and nerve wracking ordeal that had kept her awake most of the night before, worried about everything and nothing all at once.

But everything had gone smoothly. She liked Dr. Evans, a very straightforward, efficient woman in her early fifties, who talked to her directly and honestly, and smiled the entire time, letting Chloe go with a few pamphlets, a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and her pager number in case anything should happen.

"Emergency room doctors aren't always the best option," she'd said. "I don't want to worry you, but if you find yourself at the hospital for any reason at all, call me."

Beth, who handles the rare collections, has grown twin sons and tells Chloe repeatedly all the horror stories of pregnancy, comes out of the back room just as Nancy finally relinquishes the sonogram with a pink pastry box in her hands.

"Barbara, your young man was here while you were out."

Chloe really, really wishes that everyone would stop referring to Dick as her 'young man.' it wasn't as if he comes into the library specifically to see her.

Mrs. Billings had asked her to do a quick run to the post office around the corner. Chloe had been a little crabby that day, explaining that she was even more queasy than normal so she had thought that the fresh air would do Chloe good….and maybe keep her from biting everyone's heads off.

Now she stands there, perplexed, as Beth hands her the box, and tries not to let anything show on her face.

"He certainly is persistent," Ross mutters. He's the only man that works here full time, a retired school teacher who's only in three days a week. So far, he's Chloe's favorite person at the library. He has five grandchildren and tells her all kinds of tales of tree house escapades and almost always brings her candy when he works.

She's starting to feel like an adopted grandchild herself.

Of all of them, Chloe thinks Ross is the most amused by Dick's attentions. He seems rather fond of the younger man actually and she suspects that has something to do with a lengthy conversation they had about baseball one day.

Honestly, Chloe think he's rooting for him.

He asks Chloe what's in the box and (since she's curious herself) she flips it open, inhaling quickly at the waft of chocolate that hits her and makes her mouth water. Its some extremely decadent looking cake thing with swirls of what looks like either peanut butter or caramel on the top. She licks her lips, wanting to dig in.

Chloe is doing her best to get used to life without coffee, despite the fact that decaf had been given the go ahead by her doctor-sans artificial sweetener as it had potentially harmful chemicals, but it was hardly worth drinking. Personally, she thought she was making good progress at acclimating herself to getting going in the morning without the boost, but there were still times that she craved it so strong she could hardly stand it.

So she had been substituting with chocolate. Over the last few days, a lot of chocolate.

She recalls perfectly that the last three times Dick has stopped by she was munching on something chocolatey.

Food is fast becoming a subject of utmost importance to her. And sleep.

And trying not to get sick in public.

Before they can say anything else, Chloe gathers up her things and finally manages to make her way out the front door just in time for the bus to come to a stop in front of the building, tires and gears groaning.

Collapsing onto the first empty seat she finds, Chloe guards the box in her hands like a dog protecting it's food dish from others. She just can't help it. Her sense of smell has been growing stronger over the last week, making her feel like she's turning into a bloodhound, and the aroma of the cake is driving her crazy. All she wants is to tear into it, right here on the #7 bus.

But she manages to wait until she gets home. Barely.

Walking into the kitchen while she tears off bits, she picks up the morning's paper and leafs through it, settling in at the kitchen table. Its all she can do to get up in the morning now so she doesn't have a chance to read it until she gets off work. There's a front page story about an attempted art heist gone bad, ending with the crooks bound together and tied to the front door of the museum. A smile quirks at the corners of Chloe's lips. She's only been in Gotham a short time, but everyone she's met has been quick to tell her their thoughts and opinions on Batman and his unique approach to crime fighting.

Chloe is no stranger to civilian crime fighters and self appointed heroes, but something about the over the top methods of Batman amuses her. Part of her thinks its because she's gotten used to stealth and subterfuge, of striving to remain as discreet and anonymous as possible. But Batman…he doesn't seem to care one bit about discretion.

She reads the article intently, practically studying it, all the while absently eating her cake. By the time she's read the article, as well as another foiled robbery across town that's raising eyebrows, she's eaten almost all of it.

Sheepish even though she's the only one home, she puts the cake away and meanders into the den. That second article has her curious.

Old habits die hard after all.

The den is on the other end of the house from the kitchen and by the time she gets to the desk, she all but collapses into the chair. No one had ever told her how exhausting it was to be pregnant. She didn't even have to do much and she felt like she'd run a marathon. Merely walking across a room was enough to get her winded at times.

And she still has over seven months to go.

Glancing down at her abdomen, Chloe chuckles, rubbing her belly fondly. "You're quite tiring you know. I used to be able to function on an hour of sleep a night if I had to. Now I can't even walk more than a few feet without needing a nap."

Luckily the chronic fatigue supposedly got better in the second trimester. She's looking forward to that. And the end of morning sickness. Hers, as far as she can garner, isn't bad, but she'd still like it to be over.

Pulling up the sites she routinely checks for tips and the latest pregnancy news and fads (some of which are ridiculous) she scans, but nothing pulls her interest so she brings up the main page of the Gotham Gazette. There are condensed versions of the stories she's already read of course. But under them are links to older stories are under the headings and that's what she's looking for. Something about the second crime is bothering her. The MO is similar to what has been linked to Batman according to the article, but not even he could be two places at once. Especially two places on opposite sides of the city.

Chloe's seen her fair share-more than-of the weird and wacky, but traces of unidentified blood at other crime scenes and eye witness accounts leads her to believe that Batman is human, and without any enhanced powers.

She feels a fluttering in her stomach and her mind wanders to Oliver.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" she asks, hand moving in a slow circle over the still flat plane of her stomach. Dr. Evans assured her that while the flutters are uncommon so early in a pregnancy, they're not unheard of nor anything to be concerned about. They just remind her at random intervals of why she's doing what she's doing.

Her brain registers the sound of the front door opening and she closes the browser quickly.

"Anybody home?" JJ calls out.

She meets him at the entrance between the foyer and the living room, eyes taking in the large paper bags in his arms. "Hey, I thought you had a game tonight."

"A bridge washed out in Thomasville," he says. "Postponed. But I got dinner."

He gets the food out while Chloe sets the table. It's a good idea. While JJ just picks at the food like any teenage boy would do, Chloe would have been hard pressed not to devour an entire container of the Chinese food he's brought. She would have thought that after eating half of the cake she wouldn't be hungry again for a while, but the strong, spicy, somewhat greasy smell of takeout Chinese is making her stomach rumble in demand.

Her uncle walks through the door just when she's sure her stomach is about to jump out and seize the food on the table.

They make idle conversation about their days, about the rain that's even heavier than usual lately.

"I had an unexpected visitor today," Jim says, eyes on his niece.

"Oh?"

He nods, takes a sip of water before continuing. "Dick Grayson."

It's all she can go not to groan.

"I was supposed to have a meeting with Bruce Wayne about the fundraiser." He tells her that it's an annual event held in honor of the police, and that Bruce Wayne has been one of the main benefactors for years, and like the last three years, is planning to host. "But instead of Wayne showing up at out meeting today, Grayson showed up instead. He's never shown any interest beyond a pretty date before now." He fixes a smirk on his niece, humor evident on his normally serious face. "And then he asked me how you've been."

"He comes into the library sometimes…"she says, feeling a small twinge at the roundabout lie. "He's a nice guy."

"He's a major player," JJ adds. "You can't pick up a paper in this town without something about him or Bruce Wayne in it somewhere."

Chloe frowns. "That's just gossip."

Like the last time, and unbidden memory of Oliver slams into her; a vestige of annoyance at the Daily Planet's insinuation of a torrid romance between them when they were still nothing more than friends that floats along the recesses of her brain, growing stronger until the newspaper in her head feels almost tangible.

One issue, the one that caused Lois to question her, stands out starkly and she recalls the grainy image taken in a restaurant in Metropolis, thinks about Oliver leaning toward her, his face in a wide smile, her hand falling on top of his for the briefest of seconds.

And she can smell the earthy scents of a city autumn and the fettuccini so strongly that her stomach turns.

"I'm not feeling too great," she says, and stands. "I think I'm gong to go lay down."

She doesn't wait for a response before she hurries up to her room, shutting the door and pacing the floor until her stomach settles and the bitter taste of what she's cheating Oliver, herself, her baby, out of fades away.

…0…

The day Chloe hits her third month she runs into Dick on the main library steps.

It's been over a week since she's seen him. She knows he's been in the library, she's seen his name on the log books and checkout slips, but hasn't seen him. Maybe, she thought, he was done with the flirting and had decided to just go about the way things were.

The first thing she notices is that he doesn't look well. He's pale, and his eyes are hooded and lined with dark shadows. He looks as though he hasn't slept in days and he's cradling his right arm awkwardly.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

He shrugs, exactly as she would expect him to. "I got a little careless. Nothing to be concerned about."

There's something else, something he's not telling her, underlying his words. A truth he's hiding.

Chloe knows a little something about that.

"I'll leave you to your studying then." She makes to leave but he's quicker than she is and sidesteps his way to stand in front of her.

"I'm starving," he says. "Want to grab something to eat?"

Before she can protest her stomach growls loudly. She hadn't finished her breakfast, and when lunch rolled around she was nauseous so she'd only eaten a salad. Now that she's feeling better her little passenger is apparently hungry.

But she doesn't want to give Dick the wrong impression.

"I'm in a hurry…" She tries to make her way down the steps but again he blocks her path.

"I happen to know a little diner around the corner that makes the best chocolate malts in the city."

"Oh, are you talking about Toole's?" Ross comes to a stop beside Chloe on the steps, smiling between her and Dick.

"Yeah."

He nudges Chloe's arm. "Go with him. You will not regret it."

Dick grins, rocking a little on his heels. Some kind of look passes between the two men and she turns her head from one to the other, suspicious.

Ross's face splits into a wide grin, winking in Dick's direction.

Chloe groans. "No, do _not_ smile. Do not encourage him." She crosses her arms over he chest in a huff.

Ross's hand falls onto her shoulder. "Barbara, honey, just go with him."

The words of protest scatter inside her mouth. Clearly she is never going to win this. She can tell by the way her indignation-deserved indignation-dissipates at the 'aw shucks smile that is both adorably cute and evil blooms on Dick's face.

"One hour."

…0…

The diner is crowded, and they wait almost twenty minutes for a booth.

For some reason Dick insists on a booth.

"You can't get the full diner effect without it," he tells her.

She scans her menu, stomach still growling though not as loud as it had been, until he pulls it away from her. "Trust me, you want a cheeseburger," he states. "And the onion rings."

"And a malt," Chloe says, grinning.

"Definitely a malt."

"So…" Chloe taps her fingers on the top of the 50's style table after the waitress leaves. "How are things?"

His brow crinkles. "Things?"

Gesturing to his arm with her head, she leans forward. "There's that for starters. And the fact that you went from almost living at the library to be almost never there."

"Been busy," he states simply. "What about you? You've been here almost a month now, what do you think of our fair city?"

The sky chooses that moment to open up and a loud clap of thunder shakes the glass of the diner windows.

"Well, maybe 'fair' isn't the best word," he quips.

Their waitress sets the malts on the table, along with straws and spoons.

"Ignoring that blatant ploy to change the subject," she smiles wide when a sheepish blush casts a rosy glow on his cheeks, "I'm enjoying it."

"Most people find Gotham a little daunting at first."

She takes a sip of her malt-heavenly-and shrugs. "Well, when you're used to Metropolis-" She clamps her mouth shut, realizing too late what she's said.

Dick's eyes light. "You're from Metropolis?"

"More or less," she says hurriedly, and takes another sip to prolong answering. She's saved by the arrival of their food.

Grudgingly, she has to admit that both Dick and Ross were right. This is with a doubt the best burger she's ever had, and the best malt and onion rings as well.

"God, this is delicious."

Dick chuckles, squirting more ketchup onto his plate to dip his onion rings. She can see an 'I told you so' swimming in his eyes, but he manages to keep it to himself.

"Dick, can I ask you something?" Chloe waits until their more or less done with their food, but she needs to ask. He nods, so she pushes an errant lock of her wig over her shoulder. "In all seriousness, do you like me?"

He chokes a little on his malt. After a few sputtered coughs he clears his throat before he can answer her. "I'm that obvious?"

Try as she might, Chloe can't seem to stop smiling. "The cake was a little much."

"But it was good, right?"

Laughing, she bobs her head in agreement. "Don't you think it's a little much for someone you don't even know?"

With yet another shrug, he leans back in the booth and she can vaguely feel him stretching his legs out under the table. "I've never been accused of being subtle."

She has to give that.

"Besides, how else can I get to know you?"

Chloe feels his gaze on her like flickering embers, going this way and that and she wants to squirm under the scrutiny of his eyes. She's not really used to such blatant flirting-except for Bart and it isn't like he was being serious. Again, she's hit with memories and a train of comparisons runs through her mind, and begging attention.

In all honesty, what little she knows of Dick is a lot like Bart, and also a bit like Oliver. They share that brashness, that cockiness. Not to the point where she wants to smack him, but right up there to that edge. It's a fine line with guys like this.

"I'm flattered, really," she says sincerely because she is. "But I'm not dating right now."

Dick's smile falters, but he forces his lips to retain their upward curve. The shift is so quick she almost doesn't even notice it. "Do I at least get an opportunity to tell you a little bit about myself before you decide you're not interested?"

"I honestly don't see the point." Chloe is not normally so blunt, but dragging this all out would be pointless.

"Come on, Babs, give a guy a chance."

Chloe feels her nose wrinkle. "Babs?"

A huge laugh bursts forth from his lips. "I told you, you don't look like a Barbara."

"Babs?" she repeats.

He throws his hands up in mock dramatics. "Its cute. And it suits you. Moving on," he signals for the check. "So…my middle name is John, I was born on the first day of spring, my parents died when I was young, and I've come to terms with it." He holds a hand up, as if sensing she was about to offer her sympathies. Which she had been. "Bruce took me in shortly after that. I think he believes it was a karmic thing, but anyway, my parents were in the circus."

She interrupts at that. "Circus?"

He nods. "Acrobats. The Flying Graysons. We were the only people on Earth who could perform a quadruple somersault. No, I'm the only one who can."

"Wait a second." Chloe leans in, becoming interested despite herself. "You're an acrobat?" He nods. "Like flying through the air, walking a tightrope, leotard kind of acrobat?"

Dick grimaces. "I gave up leotards but yeah."

Chuckling, Chloe sits back against the shiny red plastic of the booth and tells him to continue. She's actually enjoying herself.

"Well, I'm fluent in seven languages. Honest," he adds off the skeptical look she can feel on her face. "English, French, Spanish, Russian, Mandarin, Cantonese, and Japanese. But I can't read or write the last three. Those symbols give me a headache."

She laughs again.

"I'm 5'10, weigh 175 pounds, and am a master martial artist."

"Well now you're just bragging," she teases.

He leans in and says, in a loud stage whisper that causes her lips to twitch even more. "Impressing pretty girls is my specialty." He winks. "Is it working?"

"Not remotely."

Making and 'oh, yeah?' face of someone about to issue a challenge, he folds his hands together and asks her to return the favor and tell him a little about herself.

"Fine." Taking a deep breath, she begins to speak slowly so she won't slip again and reveal something she doesn't mean to. "I was born in Kansas, only child. My mom wasn't around. I majored in journalism…" She trails off, noting that Dick's eyes are glazing. Obviously he's thinking of a way to spin something in his favor. "I got married just short of two years ago," At that his eyes go so wide she thinks they'll likely to pop out of his head and land in the remains of his chocolate malt. "and my husband passed away not long ago." Her conscience kicks into high gear, screaming at her. Using Jimmy and his death as an excuse to beg off a persistent guy is low, but she doesn't want to play the baby card unless she's forced to. "So when I say I'm not dating right now…"

"Oh." Dick's voice sounds small, really small. "Sorry."

"Dick," she reaches over and places her hand over his larger one on the table. "You're a sweet guy, and you're funny." Chloe grins, feeling a tad bit like making up for the fact that his eyes aren't sparkling the way they have been since she met him anymore. "And if I didn't think it'd swell that big ego of yours, I'd tell you that you're pretty cute too."

The faintest traces of that big smile quirk at the edges of his mouth.

"But right now, a friend is all I can handle."

"Friends, huh?" He ponders for a moment, lips and brows twisted in a look of concentration. "I think I can do that."

…0…


	10. Chapter 10

…0…

_Only in the frictionless vacuum of a nonexistent abstract world can _

_movement or change occur without that abrasive friction of conflict. _

_- Saul Alinsky_

…0…

"I still think this is a bad idea."

Chloe turns to her uncle, throwing him yet another exasperated look that wasn't going to do any good-just like the others.

But the whole thing was beginning to get on her nerves.

"Its just dinner," she says, for what feels like the millionth time since the entire situation had come up.

Muttering under his breath, he continues on setting the table. The notion of Dick Grayson coming over for dinner wasn't one he likes at all, and he's made no secret of it. In all honesty, as much as Chloe loves her uncle, and as grateful as she is to him for everything he's done for her, she thinks he's acting like a child. Who cares if he dislikes Dick? Chloe does and that should be enough for him.

When the thought runs through her head, it gives her pause and she sets down the stack of napkins as forcefully as she can, given that they're cloth and all. "I just don't understand why you're so against me being friends with Dick. Yes, he's a little much at times, but he's a good guy."

"You don't know that," he says softly, almost too softly for her to hear him.

"And neither do you," she counters. Over the previous week, she's begun spending more time with Dick than she had anticipated, and surprisingly enough, he's becoming someone she looks forward to being around.

Before either of them can say anything else, JJ comes into the dining room and announces that he's removed all evidence of Chloe's never ending research on babies from the living room.

"You're going through a lot of trouble for a guy who's just a 'friend.'" JJ says, dipping his finger in the corner of the lasagna.

Chloe swats at his hand. She's been trying all evening to keep him out of the food - mainly because she's so tempted herself to just dive in and he's making it harder for her to muster up some willpower of her own.

"He is a just a friend," Chloe insists, ducking her head as she finishes setting the table so they won't notice how flushed she's becoming.

"I've noticed," JJ states, plopping into a seat at the table, "that when people say they're 'just friends' they're usually not."

She snorts. Only a 16 year old can ever sound that sure of themselves. And she tells him as much, which leads him to retort about her outfit.

Jim smacks him on the back of the head as he passes by on the way to kitchen. He knows that Chloe's getting a little sensitive about her appearance, mainly because she finally is beginning to gain a little weight. "Don't listen to him, sweetheart. You look lovely."

That doesn't stop her from eyeing herself in the dining room window. Its so dark outside that she basically has a mirror in the thick pane glass. Eyeing herself critically, she considers the possibility that JJ might be right about her outfit. Even though its only been a week, she does think that Dick is starting to accept that she's not interested in him romantically and she worries her clothes might suggest otherwise.

She can't really help it though. All of her more form-fitting clothes are too tight now, and even the ones that had provide a little more room in the earliest stages of her pregnancy are failing to conceal the rounding curves of her hips, stomach, and breasts. Her belly is just starting to poke out a little, so she had decided to compensate with a flowy top she bought the day before on a whim. With so little time left before she's forced into maternity clothes, the fact that it fit and doesn't make her look visibly pregnant made it a keeper. The low neckline was just something she had to live with.

Chloe doubts that people would automatically know she's pregnant just by looking at her. Soon, however, soon her condition will be obvious.

The idea of changing flits through her mind but the doorbell interrupts her worrying. Smoothing down the fabric where she was futzing with it, she goes to open the door.

Dick greets her with a wide smile, the kind that causes his eyes to crinkle at the corners. The kind she can't help but return.

"I come bearing gifts," he says, pulling from behind his back a bouquet of white tulips and a pink pastry box that gives off the thick aroma of dark chocolate.

She takes the box first, trying not to drool. "You didn't have to do that." He hands her the flowers and she inhales deeply.

"One of the first things," he begins, shrugging off his leather jacket which looks like it costs more than a year's tuition at an Ivy League school, "Bruce taught me was to be more observant than need be. And I've noticed that chocolate is the sure thing to light that smile of yours up."

Okay, that was definitely a line.

Chloe rolls her eyes, not able to keep the smile off her face, but Dick merely looks at her with an amused, indulgent look on his face. That's how he usually looks at her; like she's a three year old that inadvertently just did something cute.

Just then her uncle and her cousin come into the foyer, and the shaking of hands begins. Everyone eyes each other very seriously, like they're sizing one another up, until she can't take anymore and asks JJ to get her a vase for the tulips.

"Well Mr. Grayson," Jim says, "I hear you and my niece have been spending quite a bit of time together."

A flush flares up in Chloe's cheeks. And worse, they both notice.

Trying, and failing, to be discreet about the smirk twisting his lips, Dick allows his eyes to slide toward her before he nods his head in her uncle's direction. "Yes sir. I've been lucky enough that she's agreed to hang out with me from time to time."

"You know she lost her husband not long ago?"

"Uncle Jim!" Chloe explodes, mortified beyond belief.

He shot her a 'what?' look, shrugging.

Exasperated, she glares at him while Dick shifts in discomfort. She gets that he's trying to look out for her, but that was a little much.

Dick begins to speak, the words coming out fragmented. Chloe's eyebrows rise. Never would she have thought she'd see Dick stuttering. "Um, yes, you see - she, um, I-"

"Dick, breathe."

He does, and gives her a grateful look. "Yes," he says, clearly this time. "Babs has told me about her husband."

JJ walks back into the foyer, wrinkling his nose. "Babs?"

Rolling her eyes, Chloe sighs. "I can't get him to call me anything else."

"I like it," her uncle announces. "It's very you."

A snort escapes from Dick, who's face has turned so red from trying to stem his laughter that she worries it can't be good for him. She shoots him a murderous glare and heads to the table. The guys follow her.

…0…

"So…" Chloe looks up at Dick, grinning. "Was dinner with the police commissioner sufficiently scary enough for you?"

With a shrug and an easy smile, his eyes twinkle under the dim glow of the light over the front stoop. He grins down at her, all relaxed charm and good humor. She envies him that attitude. It's been so long, too long, since her own mood has been that light.

"Terrifying," he tells her, ducking his head down next to her ear. "Especially the part when he told me about you hiding brussel sprouts in his shoes when you were five."

Chloe laughs. "When was that?"

"When you were getting coffee."

A hefty yawn breaks his words off, making her laugh again. "It doesn't seem to be doing the trick though."

"Yeah, that's because it was decaf."

She can't help the face she makes. Chloe's doing her best, but the fact remains that decaf coffee is hardly worth drinking, and she's counting down the days until she can have an extra large latté again. Just then she feels a little flutter in her stomach, like water swishing around. Dr. Evans and all of her books have told her that its too early to be able to feel the baby moving, but she can't help but think that her little tadpole is protesting her desire for coffee.

Dick makes a face similar to hers. "That's just wrong."

"I agree."

He opens his mouth to say something else, only to be interrupted by a siren piercing through the silence of the quiet street and then the door's flying open, her uncle hurrying down the steps. He apologizes for nearly bowling them over, and says there's a hostage situation down at Gotham National Bank.

When she glances back up at Dick, his face has tensed into hard lines. "Dick, you okay?"

"Yeah," he says, not looking at her. "Thanks for dinner. It was great."

Then he takes off down the steps, and pulls his car onto the slick street so fast his tires screech.

…0…

At five the next morning, Chloe's morning sickness rears its ugly head, forcing her from the warmth of her bed on her day off from work. Grumbling, she heads down to the kitchen once she's sure that nothing else in her stomach is trying to work it's way up and decides to try out that ginger fruit smoothie recipe she got online the day before that's supposed to help with nausea. This is the first time she's had a chance to try it when she's actually queasy.

Hopefully it won't make a return appearance.

The house is quiet and dark, the morning outside the window just starting to lighten up. A thump catches her attention, and she looks out into the misty morning to see her uncle getting out of his squad car. She fills the coffee pot up with regular and flips the machine on.

"You're up early," he comments at catching sight of her. He tosses a pile of papers and files onto the kitchen table.

She shrugs, adding a few strawberries to the blender, some bananas, and hits the highest setting. "Anti nausea smoothie. Thought I'd give it a try."

"Ah." He pours himself a huge mug of dark roast coffee, and she sips her smoothie sullenly. It's good, really good, but she honestly couldn't care less. As good as it is, she'd much prefer the coffee right now.

Being pregnant sucks. She loves her baby already, but being pregnant just really sucks.

Chloe grabs the copy of the Gazette off the table and her eyes move over the blaring headline; BANK HOSTAGES SAFE, THANK BATMAN FOR RESCUE.

"Hostage situation go alright?"

He grunts. "What do you think?"

It must be hard, to work so hard to keep people safe only to have someone swoop in (literally) and steal your thunder.

She reads the article, eyeing the fuzzy picture of a black figure swinging away from Gotham National on a wire. Bellow that, a smaller article about a fire on the west side catches her attention. A family had been stuck in one of the upper floor apartments, trapped by a fallen beam, only to be rescued by a mysterious black clad stranger. At first it was thought to be Batman, but then the news of his exploits on the other side of town emerged, and the theory of a new crime fighter was beginning to form. There was already an editorial a few pages over about what the city was coming to when there were two 'masked loonies' running around pummeling people with their bare hands.

Looks like she arrived in Gotham just as things are getting interesting.

…0…

Chloe is just getting to the part of _Gone With the Wind _where Rhett carries Scarlett up the stairs when the doorbell rings. Grumbling, she hits the pause button and sets down the carton of cold noodles she ordered for dinner on top of her stack of pregnancy books.

Dick looks her up and down when she opens the door and grins. "You cannot wear that."

She glances down at her pajama bottoms and the voluminous Gotham U sweatshirt Tony bought her, and on down to the fuzzy slippers Lois had given her for Christmas. Frowning, she tilts her head to the side and cocks an eyebrow at him. "Well excuse me for not knowing that my uncle's living room had a dress code." For the first time she notices that Dick isn't dressed as he usually is. Instead of jeans and a sweater like he typically wears, he's dressed in what looks like a military uniform, all dark wool and shiny buttons, under a being trech coat and holding a hat in his hands. "When did you enlist?"

With a small roll of his eyes, he steps into the foyer and plops the hat on his head - which gives him an almost uncanny resemblance to Gregory Peck in _Night People_.

And with that thought she realizes she has officially been watching too much TCM.

Spreading his arms wide in a way that makes his trench coat open more in the center, he does a slow twirl on his toes, showing off his outfit. "You like?"

Despite her best efforts, the corners of her lips twitch and Chloe giggles. "You look great."

"Thank you," he says, bowing his head in her direction.

"So why are channeling a GI anyway? New look?" She moved toward the kitchen, hoping that he wouldn't notice the books on the end table beside her uncle's comfy chair.

He gives her an incredulous look. It was almost as if she had suddenly lapsed into Swahili or told him that she thought pedophiles should run for Congress. "You're serious?"

"Obviously."

Dick shakes his head, chuckling, and Chloe feels like she's on the wrong side of an inside joke. "Tonight's the Policeman's Ball," he states, and she knew that. It was the main reason she was home alone on a Saturday night. "Why aren't you dressed?"

Well that one's easy enough. "Because I'm not going."

"You can't not go," Dick says, as if the event were mandatory.

Sure, there are lots of people in Gotham who would probably love the chance to get all dressed up in a costume and watch tipsy detectives attempt to slow dance with scantily clad socialites, but Chloe isn't one of them. For one thing, she's growing harder to fit lately and for another, her wig recently started itching along her hairline and is driving her full out nuts.

"Dick," she says flatly, "I'm not in the mood for a party tonight." He starts to protest so she holds her hands up to cut him off. "Even if I did want to go, I don't have anything to wear."

Dick's face, pretty as it is, widens into an unholy grin that has Chloe's hand itching to reach out and slap the side of his head. She knows that look. She has experience with that look and the type of guys who used it to soften the boom before they did something that would inevitably make you want to pull your hair out.

Holding up his index fingers, Dick dashes out the front door and back in a few seconds later, too quick for her to even think of being confused. He holds a garment bag with the logo of Harlequin Costumes down the side out to her.

Eyes narrowing, she unzips it. "What is this?"

A huge smile breaking his features, Dick shrugs. "That is what you're wearing."

…0…

It took close to an hour, but Chloe reluctantly agreed to accompany Dick to the party - on the condition that he would have her back home in no more than two hours.

Stumbling slightly over her ridiculous shoes, Chloe glares at Dick as he helps right her. "I hate you."

"Now if that were true," he quips, "you wouldn't be here."

With murder in her eyes, she stands and straightens her mask and prays her uncle won't go ballistic when he sees her outfit.

Of all the possibilities for costumes, Chloe can not wrap her mind around why Dick would have chosen this particular costume for her. She had expected, going off his own outfit, that he had brought her some 40's era dress, something akin to Lauren Bacall or Katherine Hepburn from Hollywood's heyday. That she could have dealt with.

But after lots of whining on her part and even more wheedling on Dick's, she had finally relented and donned the female Batman outfit he had brought her.

"I've seen you researching Batman at the library when you think no one's around," he said in response to her horror at the outfit. "I knew it was perfect the second I saw it."

Perfect isn't what Chloe would call the canary yellow go-go boots she can barely walk in, or the matching mask that all but totally obstructed her vision. More like ludicrous. The only part she was grateful for was that her belly was for the most part concealed. Though she still isn't obviously pregnant, since she entered her second trimester she's starting to gain more weight and there's now a strip of bare skin between her shirt and pants whenever she weaes a shirt that is even a little tight. Luckily, Gotham is a good ten degrees colder than Metropolis on a good day and she can get away with heavy sweaters and layered cardigans and scarves. Scarves were actually very handy at hiding a bump she's learned. At least her cat suit, or bat suit rather, is spandex and not leather like she would have expected, and the bright yellow faux utility belt covers her stomach from the front and the billowing cape worked on the sides.

It's not perfect, not by any means, but at least her secret is still safe.

And the longer she goes without telling Dick, the more it feels like a secret.

"I look like an idiot," she insists, whacking the end of her ponytail away from her face.

"You look fantastic," Dick contradicts. "I bet if Batman could see you he'd want to take you on as a sidekick."

The word hits her straight in the chest and she turns her head to the side sharply, trying to stave off the tears burning up behind her eyes.

Damn hormones.

A hand lands on her shoulder. "Babs, you okay?"

"Yeah." She plasters the biggest, most fake smile on her face she can manage and squares her shoulders. "Let's get this over with."

Dick beams. "That's the spirit."

…0…

As predicted, Jim isn't pleased with Chloe's costume, or with the good natured chuckles that came with learning that the Batgirl is the Commissioner's niece.

"I'm sorry," she hisses. "It wasn't my idea."

Most of the officers have opted to wear their dress uniforms instead of costumes, and Chloe realizes that her uncle looks much more official and intimidating in his dress blues.

"Just have fun," he tells her, ushering her away from the receiving line towards Dick.

"I'll try," she mutters under her breath and joins Dick, who leads her towards a small crowd at the edge of the dance floor.

He leans down to whisper in her ear. "Trust fund babies. Prepare for stock talk."

Which was exactly what she gets - along with discussion of portfolios, liquid assets, and equitable property.

And then the conversation turned to her costume.

"It's just… darling," is the comment from a tall blonde in a painted on white Marilyn Monroe dress and perfect curls. The brunette with the enormous blue eyes declares that it is 'adorable.'

The guys in the group have more suggestive comments, prompting Dick to get up in the face of a man a good three inches taller than him, who has to outweigh Dick by at least fifteen pounds.

She pulls on his arm. "Dick, drop it."

They walked away, and Chloe notices the other man's shoulders visibly relaxing. From what she'd gleaned about Dick's background (both on her own and secondhand) in martial arts, he could have dropped that guy with a flick of his wrist.

A man in the corner is signaling for Dick to come over. Not wanting to suffer through any more small talk, Chloe excuses herself and goes outside for some fresh air. It's late April, and the nights are still cold but not to the point where Chloe is afraid that merely stepping outdoors without her coat will lead to hypothermia. Standing on the top of the steep steps leading into the Gotham Museum of Art, she takes a deep breath and removes her mask. It's a beautiful, if foggy night, and the stars overhead twinkle brightly against the jet black sky.

A feeling like corn popping in her stomach draws Chloe's attention and she looks down at her stomach with a soft smile. She places her hand on the upper curve of her protruding stomach above the top of her belt and rubs a small circle. "Guess you like it better out here too, huh?" More popping occurrs and she chuckles.

The way Chloe sees it, pregnancy is a tradeoff. As soon as one horrendous thing ends another crops up, interspersed with a few things that are actually pretty cool. Once morning sickness and chronic fatigue gave way to weight gain and cravings, she was supposed to feel better. Which she is. For the most part. No longer does she wake up with the feeling that she had just completed a marathon instead of sleeping the ten hours or so she had actually gotten in. She attributes a lot of that to getting the caffeine out of her system at last.

And then, about a week ago, the best part of pregnancy had happened. She felt the baby moving.

As the days wear on it moves more, and more. And feels more like a baby than a situation.

Her brief maternal moment gets interrupted by a loud crash around the side of the steps. She peers over the edge but all she can see is a few vague dark shapes moving around. But then she hears the sounds of scuffling and a grunt and knows that somebody is in trouble.

Chloe dashes down as fast as she can manage in her boots without breaking her neck and sees what look to be two men, one with large, wing-like sleeves, trying to force another into a van despite the impressive fight he's putting up.

How was no one else seeing this? Over half of Gotham's police force is less than a hundred yards away and she's the only person aware of an attempting kidnapping in progress. Digging into her belt, she grabs her phone and sends her uncle a text to get outside ASAP and bring backup. Then she blows the whistle her dad had given her for the summer she spent interning at the Planet to get their attention.

Just because her belt didn't come equipped with grappling hooks and smoke bombs doesn't mean it's entirely useless.

"Hey!" She yells, everything in her telling her that she was being an idiot.

The men look up at her, glaring and the one without the wings advances on her. "Look at the Batgirl. What's wrong; the big man too busy to come out and do any of the work himself, he has to send a little girl?"

A loud thump and the sound of bone cracking draws both their attention and she sees the man with the wings doubled over on the asphalt, blood seeping through his full facial mask and covering his face and neck. The kidnappee stood, panting, drawing himself up to his full height and Chloe sees that it's Bruce Wayne, his once immaculate tuxedo covered in mud and blood and who knows what else. Wiping his face on the back of his hand, his eyes meet Chloe's and his face goes blank, unreadable, as their gazes lock until the cops barreling down the steps break her reverie.

…0…

Four days later Nancy asks Chloe if she minds staying a little late to help her catalogue a new shipment of children's books that had just come in that day. Both Beth and Ross had been out since the week before with a virus, and since Chloe was pregnant Mrs. Billings insisted she take a few days off so she wouldn't catch it. Ordinarily, she wouldn't even care, but with the option of taking even over the counter medication being off limits she wasn't willing to risk it.

'A little late' had turned into almost nine o'clock and Chloe walks out cranky and tired, her back aching and her ankles swollen like grapefruits inside her boots.

All she wants in the world right now is her bed at her uncle's and the leftover chicken picatta JJ swore he would leave for her. And maybe she can wheedle a foot rub out of him if she plays her cards right. Her mood swings over the last few days have been a nightmare and all three of her relatives have become only too happy to accommodate her whims.

It's nice. She likes being a little power hungry.

"Miss Gordon."

Hand on her chest, Chloe whirls to find Bruce Wayne walking slowly toward her, looking ominous his black overcoat. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

She snorts. If?

"I take it that I did," he quips dryly. "Again, my apologies." He lays his briefcase on the hood of her car and pops it open. Handing her a folder, he fixes a steely gaze on her that reminds her eerily of Lex, back when they first met and she considered him a friend and not the face of evil on Earth.

"What is this?" she opens it up and sees a picture of herself, complete with short blonde hair and minus her glasses staring up at her. Her blood running cold in her veins, Chloe looks up at him and feels the world fall away from beneath her feet.

He knows.

"Before you say anything," he begins, "I'm not going to do anything with this."

She glances up at him, tears swimming in her eyes and making her vision blur, Bruce a fuzzy blob of black in front of her. It's hard to believe him when he's just handed her everything she's been trying to leave behind her.

He keeps talking, taking a step closer to her and lowering his voice. "I have to admit, I've been a bit curious about you for a while now. Dick talks about you all the time and even though you told him about your husband, he's not going to let go. He's crazy about you."

Chloe closes her eyes against the words, the tears finally spilling over. "How much do you know?"

"Chloe Sullivan," he says, and begins to recite her life history like a board report, "born in Granville, Kansas, former Met U student and Daily Planet reporter turned champion of the meteor infected. You have a history with the Luthors and a pretty impressive track record of showing up in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Well, that's true.

"The rest is purely speculation on my part."

At that she looks up at him, curiosity and dread vying for a place in the forefront of her consciousness. "Speculation?"

When his eyes tick down, her heart plummets through her feet. And it must show on her face for he nods slowly, looking resigned. "You're pregnant."

Chloe nods. "Dick doesn't know."

"And I won't tell him," Bruce assures her. "It's not my place, it's your business. But Dick is family to me, and I'm only looking at for him. That's yours," he motions to the file. "Do what you want with it."

He turns to leave and her breathing comes easier.

Bruce's voice floats back to her, and she looks over at him, hesitant to hear what else he could have to tell her. "I owe you for the other night. I can't thank you enough for what you did."

She can't help it, she smiles - just a smidge.

"But it was reckless in your condition, and I have a feeling I'm not the only one who would think so."

Now her interest is peaked. He sounds so sure of himself, so confident, so like every other billionaire she's met that she cocks her head and glares at him. "I didn't do a single thing to harm my baby. I wouldn't."

Nodding, he admits that it's true, but not what he meant. "Just be careful, Miss Gordon," he says. "Judging from those photos, I'd say there's someone who would agree with me."

Turning, he walks a few paces and disappears into the shadows, nothing more than a ghost in the night. She opens the folder and digs through it, near frantic.

Basics mostly. Transcripts, medical records. An article about Lionel Luthor's trial, her engagement announcement, Jimmy's obituary.

And then she finds them. The photos and clippings of her and Oliver out in Metropolis back when they caused such fervor. Paper-clipped to the upper corner of what looks like a surveillance shot of her and Oliver walking to the coffee shop down the street from Isis, Oliver's head next to her ear, looking every inch the boyfriend whispering sweet nothings, was a photo of two boys, no older than fifteen, in matching blazers and ties in front of an ivy covered building.

She knows those faces. They're younger than she's familiar with, but unmistakable.

Bruce and Oliver, in their prep school days. Clearly, Bruce wants Chloe to know that he knows. Everything.

"Damn it."

…0…

_I know the Batgirl costume is a little hokey, but that's the canon first meeting of Bruce and Babs way back in the Detective Comic days so there you have it._


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Okay, first off, if you got this alert and went 'Who the heck is this?'- yes, I changed my username. I don't know how good an idea it was as I've had the other one for like six years or so, and I've used it all over the net, but it was time for a change, so I hope no one got confused.

Second, the wait. I am super sorry it's taken me so long. I made the mistake of signing up for apocabigbang over at LJ, and I thought it'd be easier to just concentrate on that until it was finished. Then I signed up for armor_bigbang and well, time just got away from me. But the biggest problem was that my external hard drive died a very tragic death and I lost all my files. Including my fic stuff. So I've had to start over from scratch on everything. I'm getting there, slowly, but I'm not sure how regular the updates are going to be. Hopefully not another year. Woops.

…0…

_its two steps forward and three steps back_

_when a heart is on the mend_

_- spilled perfume, pam tillis_

…0…

Chloe calls in sick to work the next two days and turns off the new cell phone her uncle had insisted she buy after coming to town. The file Bruce had given her is sitting on her desk, under her ever growing pile of baby books. The edge peeks out, taunting her.

She knows she has to tell Dick. But working up enough courage to actually _do_ it… that's going to require a little more time.

After going through the file, more than once, more thoroughly, she's decided that Bruce was more in depth than she'd originally realized. It seemed like he had ransacked the entirety of her life thus far. There were old Torch articles, Daily Planet editorials from her brief stint as a columnist in high school, a term paper she'd written on journalistic ethics at Met U, even Clark's write up of her winning prom queen. No stone was left unturned. Every single thing that had been so carefully erased, there before her in black and white.

Only one thing had been removed from the file. Chloe rolls over in her bed and opens the top drawer of her nightstand. She had stuck the photo of Bruce and Oliver when they were young in the back, underneath a stack of pamphlets she'd gotten at her last doctor's appointment. She figures that if, on the off chance, somebody were to go through her things, the last place they would look for anything suspicious would be amidst a pile of information on how to alleviate heartburn and how to cope with morning sickness.

All of the articles about her and Oliver, the pictures, even the ones she had brought with her and stashed in the back of her closet, have been burned. It was painful to do it, but necessary. If it was that easy for Bruce to puzzle out the truth it wouldn't be that hard for anyone else. So she destroyed every piece of evidence she possessed that Chloe Sullivan had ever known Oliver Queen.

Blinking her blurry eyes, Chloe sits up in her bed and stares down at the photo. It's the only one of Oliver she has left. The thought hits her harder than she anticipates, and a heavy lump settles in her chest, pressing hard.

It isn't as if Chloe likes hiding and lying to everyone. If she had her druthers, she'd be in Metropolis right now, dealing with an overprotective passel of heroes and a hovering Lois, fielding worried calls from her dad and Martha Kent, in her Watchtower, with her whole life's worth of memories in their rightful place.

And yes, if she wants, she can go back right now and have that. It'd be easy, explanations aside.

But she can't. Zod is there. He's alive, and he's dangerous and there's no way she is willing to put her baby in danger. Chloe's been only too happy to walk into the fire for Clark time and time again. She still would. Only its not about her anymore. Its about someone tiny and helpless, someone who depends on her for _everything_.

And if she had told Clark about Zod, she would have had to admit that she met him. That she was so freaked out by him that she ran straight to Oliver.

That she overheard Oliver basically planning a murder.

And that she fled. Because she's pregnant.

Dominoes have never been her favorite game.

The life she chose for herself isn't the life she wants for her child. She wants a normal, safe life with a mom who works a regular job and extended family around. Most importantly, she wants her son or daughter to grow up without the fear of what the latest in a long line of lunatics could do to Chloe and the people she had surrounded herself with hanging over his or her head. No child deserves that.

With a renewed resolve, Chloe tears the picture in half, into fourths, eighths, and so on until its nothing but a pile of confetti.

…0…

As he drove her home from the ball, Dick had invited her to a street fair in the park for the following Saturday.

He's running late, so he asks her to just come over to his place and they'll leave from there.

Of course, his place being Wayne Manor, she walks up the steps after exiting her taxi with her nerves twittering like caffeinated hummingbirds. Taking a deep breath, she raises her hand slowly and knocks.

Not two seconds pass before the imposing wooden door swings wide and an older man in a mourning coat smiles warmly at her from behind his small wire rimmed glasses. "Miss Gordon?"

She nods, and he ushers her inside, offers her a beverage.

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

Showing her to a drawing room just off the entrance, he leaves her there.

Chloe looks around, whistling under her breath.

She knows that, over the last decade or so, Bruce has been in and out of the richest man in America slot, usually vying with Lex and Oliver for the top spot. And though she's never been to Oliver's family home in Star City, she has seen pictures, and she's had parts of the Luthor Mansion committed to memory since she was fifteen. But nothing in her past experiences with billionaire homes could have prepared her for what she sees all around her. The sheer size alone is staggering, but everything just looks so perfect; expensive and well tended, and she basically feels as if she's just walked on to a movie set. If rankings were based on houses, she thinks, Bruce would win hands down.

While she soaks it all in, she must zone out, for she turns slightly and sees Bruce Wayne himself staring at her wearing as close to an amused look as she can imagine him capable of. "Miss Gordon."

Her cheeks heating, she manages a weak smile. "Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce, please." Extending his arm in the direction of a sumptuous looking leather couch, he urges her to sit and joins her. "Dick will probably still be a few minutes."

"Okay." She wraps her cardigan a little tighter around her body, subconsciously, and places her purse in her lap a second before thinking about it. Its been happening a lot lately, almost as if she's trying to hide the baby without realizing it. Clearing her throat, she shifts, not meeting his eyes.

Bruce leans in, causing Chloe's breath to catch. It's imposing; being this close to someone so reserved and so good looking. Different. Oliver, he's easy to be around. (For the most part.) He's so charming, so good natured. So… likeable, even without his money and his looks. Lex used to be easy to be around. Back when she first met him and he wanted nothing more than to be liked and accepted. But she'd never been around somebody like Bruce, who's every movement is self assured and thought out. Or at least they seem that way.

He clears his throat, and adjusts his tie, apparently sensing her discomfort. "I know you must be wary of me after our last conversation," he says, "but I assure you; I meant what I said. I'm not planning to do anything with the information I have. Its your business."

Before she can stop herself, Chloe bursts into tears.

Looking alarmed, Bruce reels backwards a ways. "Oh, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"That's okay," Chloe says immediately, sniffing a little and feeing like a fool for dissolving into a sobbing mess. "It's the hormones. I cried because there was no milk yesterday." She gives him a watery smile, and he laughs.

He gives a small chuckle in return and hands her a handkerchief. "That sounds terribly inconvenient."

It's probably the closest thing to a joke that Bruce ever attempts, and she appreciates his trying to make her feel more comfortable. Chloe dabs at her eyes and hands his handkerchief back. "Thanks. And it is by the way. Thankfully it hasn't happened in public yet. That's when I may be in need of one of those again."

Dick walks in just then, smiling broadly at her. "Sorry. I was on the phone with a member of my study group," he tells her. "Midterms. You know how it is."

She stood, Bruce rising to his feet beside her, and shrugged. "It's okay. You ready to go?"

Dick's eyes ticked down over her. She knew he was taking in her outfit. It was unseasonably warm for April in Gotham, yet Chloe was still wearing a long scarf and a billowy cardigan over her loose fitting tee shirt.

Not the most fashionable of outfits, but it does a very nice job of concealing her stomach and the very unattractive band on her first pair of maternity jeans. Feeling a sudden bout of self consciousness, Chloe tucks a loose strand of her wig that's escaped from her hairclip behind her ear.

But instead of saying anything about her apparent shift in attitude, Dick just continues to grin at her. "You look nice."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the very traces of a small smirk tugging at the edges of Bruce's mouth. He turns his head to disguise it, but it makes her grin all the same. Perhaps he isn't as stoic as the press paints him to be - just a man who values his privacy.

She smiles at Dick, hoping that there are no lingering traces of tears or smudged makeup around her eyes. That would take some explaining to do, and she was having some severe communication problems lately. It was hard telling what would fall out of her mouth at any given second. "Thanks. You ready to go?"

Saying their goodbyes to Bruce, they walk out the front door and Dick's car is sitting right in front of the steps. Despite her uncle's insistences, she hasn't gotten a car yet. Years of living in Metropolis has made her acutely aware that, while city transportation isn't always reliable, it is a much more cost efficient and can take her almost anywhere she needs to go. Except out to the Palisades and Wayne Manor, and she'd taken a cab instead.

Then she thinks about lugging a stroller around the Met 1 Express, and thinks maybe she'll let Uncle Jim take her by the same lot where he'd gotten 'such a great deal' on Tony's car.

Like the perfect well bred gentleman, Dick opens her door for her and waits until it closes before he jogs around to his side. Chloe runs her hand along the seat, feeling the buttery leather under her fingers. Its softer than any leather she's ever felt, and the tricked out stereo looks as complicated as her entire Watchtower setup put together. When she ticks her eyes toward Dick he's smirking at her, no doubt thinking she's exactly as impressed as she doesn't want him to know she is. "Nice car."

Silently, he turns the engine and they head off.

…0…

"Where do you put it all?"

Giving him a good natured glare, Chloe took another bite of her huge pretzel and continued browsing through a pile of gauzy scarves and intricately engraved bangles on a small table.

One thing she can't blame on her pregnancy hormones is her aversion to taking off the bracelet she'd gotten in India. Every day since Christmas, she's worn it and doesn't see that changing. (Unless her wrists join her ankles in swelling to the size of grapefruits and she's no longer able to put it on.) she may not be Chloe Sullivan anymore, but that's who she was for twenty-two years and Chloe Sullivan was never as happy as she was that night. It's a difficult feeling to let go of.

Dick reaches over and grabs a scarf that she'd been looking at earlier. Deep, deep purple silk with silver threads lacing through in an intricate flower pattern, Chloe hasn't been able to take her eyes off it since stepping up to the table. He lays it over her shoulder and grins. "Very you."

Chloe ducks her head, the enamel and metal under her fingers feeling cooler with the blood rushing to the surface of her skin. There's a small stack tied together with a length of ribbon, multi color and alternate materials. The mix of hues and metals and plastics and woods and jewels and even porcelains shouldn't have worked together, but they did.

She hears him say "We'll take them," and her head snaps up to see him handing a bill to the vendor, who looks very pleased with herself for some reason. Reaching around her arm, Dick nabs the bangles out of her hand and unties the ribbon. He takes hold of her hand and slides them onto the wrist not wearing her India bracelet.

"Dick, I can't let you-" she protests, but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, you can," he insists. "So far you've stopped at every table and stall and bought nothing but enough fried food to feed a small army of football players." Teasing grin fixed on his face, he bumps his elbow against hers and leads her away. "Besides," he adds, "they really do suit you."

And despite how silly Chloe knows she looks wearing a pile of bracelets and two scarves - one of which clashes horribly with her outfit - she beams at Dick and winds her arm through his.

…0…

The sun is just beginning to set when Chloe finally collapses on the nearest flat surface - the low wall surrounding a statue - and rubs her aching back. If she'd known that Dick had intended to keep her at the fair all day, she definitely would have worn more appropriate shoes. Her flat boots were probably cracking along the bottom and they throbbed as she leaned her weight back on her palms.

Inside her stomach the baby felt like it was doing back flips. Everything she'd read about feeling the baby move had concerned her, but the doctor had assured Chloe that it was nothing to be concerned about, and laughed when Chloe mentioned that it happened more when she was hungry. Dick offered to swing by the diner again, but she can't wait and he troops off to get her a gyro and a lemonade.

She wonders, amused, if her appetite keeps up this way that her baby is likely to come out weighing twenty pounds.

Dick makes his way towards her just then, and hands her the food which she bites into at once. "I don't see how you can still be hungry," he remarks and plops down beside her. "You must have tried everything in the park by now."

Chloe's too busy inhaling her gyro to reply.

"Hey, they're doing bungee jumps at the end of the park. Wanna go?"

Swallowing down her last bite with a huge gulp of lemonade, Chloe shakes her head. "I don't think so. A hot bath and the pint of Cherry Garcia that JJ thinks I don't know about sound really good right now."

Dick stands, pulling her to her feet as well, and heads off in that direction. "Come on, Babs. Where's your sense of adventure?"

Frowning, she follows along. "About two hours and thirteen stalls ago."

"That'd be what, the write your name on rice place?"

At the far, far end of Gotham City Park is a large tower that would have stood out had it not been erected in an area that let the skyline of Gotham's industrial district looming in the background. As it was, the mass of steel blended in very well.

They came to a stop at the front of a small group gathered around a meshed off barrier a few feet back from a massive inflated plastic mat thing. As they come to a stop, a lone figure falls from the main top of the tower, tethered to nothing but a thin black rope until he gets a few feet from the mat and begins to bounce. The crowd around them cheers.

"Oh, I'm definitely doing that." Dick dashes towards the end of the barrier were the cashier stands and she follows along.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

He grins at her, plopping his money down. "After the trapeze, this is gonna be a breeze."

She shruggs, fully prepared to watch him freefall a few hundred feet, when he suddenly turns to her. "You wanna go?"

Chloe shakes her head so quickly, so hard, that she's almost afraid her neck's going to snap. "Nonono, I think I'll just watch. Wouldn't want all that food to come back up."

Shrugging, he hands her his jacket, making sure his wallet and phone are tucked carefully inside. Then he gets directed over to an elevator like platform that will take him all the way to the top. Craning her neck, Chloe watches as Dick is fitted into a harness and slides a helmet over his glossy black hair. His profile turns, and she has a felling he's looking for her, but the height she's looking at causes a vague sense of vertigo of to sway her, and Chloe, who has never had a problem with heights -feels her stomach turn violently.

She made it to a nearby garbage can just as Dick fell from the top. Sinking down on the ground - her wobbly knees not enough to support her - she listens to the crowd's approval and waits for Dick to come find her.


End file.
